The Prisoner
by Titanium Phoenix
Summary: We were never meant to take on captives... A Team Fortress 2 fic that follows the capture of an unlucky BLU team member.
1. Professional Courtesy

Disclaimer: All of the characters of Team Fortress 2 belong to Valve. I own nothing and I am not making any profit from the following story. The story is for nothing else but my (and the reader's) twisted pleasure. Please don't sue me… Or I'll stop purchasing games from Steam! (Ha. No I wouldn't.)

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The Prisoner

Chapter One: Professional Courtesy

It was a scorching afternoon on the fort's battlements. The sun seemed as though it were inches from the earth, the air was so thick that taking a deep breath meant risking drowning in the thick, humid air. Adding to the less than pleasant environment were the sounds and scents of warfare. Gunpowder, sweat, blood and screams of panic were almost as thick as the muggy air.

For the Sniper positioned on the deck of the fort, the heat from a recently fired gun did little for his personal comfort. A high-powered rifle with a smoking barrel; personal safety at a scalding price. Compounding the hell of battlefield was the Scout, with a heavy satchel slung over his shoulder, racing towards the battlements.

Usually the Scout had no control over the external temperature surrounding the Sniper, but this Scout was unique: he was on fire.

"Cover-me-cover-me-cover-me-cover-me!" the Scout screamed as he barreled past the expert marksman. Papers from the suitcase on the Scout's back fluttered to the Sniper's feet.

"An inconvenient time for stop, drop and roll, I see," the Sniper noted in a cheery tone as he adjusted his scope.

Seconds after the Scout cannoned away, the source of the Scout's third degree burns appeared in the doorway across the bridged valley. The Sniper smirked and placed the Pyro's masked head in his laser's sight, "Wave goodbye to your head, mate…"

His finger squeezed the trigger at the very moment his leg gave out. A stray bullet from some unnamed assailant found it's mark in the Sniper's left calf. In what could only be described as a tragic domino effect, the bullet that had been destined for the interior of the Pyro's skull ricocheted off the wall beyond it's intended target and the Sniper's gun fell to the wooden floor with a muted clatter.

The Sniper, who had collapsed in a heap beside his gun, hissed at a number of inopportune things: missing a perfectly lovely shot, his gushing leg wound and the lack of proximity between himself and the team Medic, to be precise.

With a touch of finesse, the Sniper rolled to safety behind a barricade. He achingly pulled himself upright and began to inspect his leg. After a moment of entirely useful staring, he cocked his head in curiosity; was that white bit bone or cartilage?

No matter what that was sticking grotesquely from his leg, the Sniper knew he was in danger of severe blood loss. With the locker rooms just feet away and the Medic nowhere in sight, he began a painful struggle to stand on his good leg. A task that had seemed so simple in his mind was suddenly difficult, for every time he attempted to stand more blood poured from his leg. He gave a grunt of discontent at the entire situation and resorted to more a demeaning method of movement: he began to crawl.

The Sniper gave a sigh of relief as he crawled into the safe zone that was the battlement locker room. With a grunt of exertion, he pulled himself onto a bench beside the medicine cabinet and began searching the cabinet for anything useful: bandages, bottles of antiseptics, liquor…

His hand had barely grasped a package of linen bandages when a resounding, victorious cheer boomed from beyond the locker room door. It seemed the Scout that he was supposed to be covering had been successful in his run; perhaps it was the fire that encouraged him to run a tad quicker…

The metal door of the locker room rose and the Scout, with his clothing singed and wafts of smoke trailing from his person, bounded in. The state of his clothing aside, he looked, surprisingly, no worse for wear.

"Speak of the devil," the Sniper tipped his hat to the Scout, "Congrats on the capture. Well done and all that."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks," the Scout picked a piece of smoking cotton off his shoulder and flicked it into the air, "But we need to talk about what I mean when I say 'Cover me'. I was kinda hoping ya woulda painted the wall with that psycho's brains, ya know? But that damn pyromaniac chased me so deep into our barracks I thought-"

The Sniper interrupted the Scout by raising a hand, glaring vehemently and pointing to his mangled leg.

"Never mind then," the Scout wisely dropped the subject, "Need me to get the Doc?"

"I'd appreciate it," the Sniper answered as he began to unravel the bandages he had previously selected.

"YO! DOC! UP HERE MAN!" the Scout called down the staircase beyond the locker room. His voice echoed and reverberated through the tiled locker room. The Sniper winced at the obnoxious crescendo.

The sound of boots clicking the wooden steps announced the arrival of a very weary, very exasperated Medic, "If you vould stand still for one second I vouldn't have to chase you around this damned-"

"Relax, Doc, for once it ain't me," the Scout snorted and pointed to the Sniper before adding, "Though whenever you feel like treating these burns of mine a bit more…"

The Medic ignored the Scout and glanced down at the Sniper's leg with keen interest, "Ahh, Sniper…Nasty vound there. Who vas the culprit?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Doc," the Sniper answered as he lifted his injured leg onto the bench, "Someone's lucky day, I suspect."

Opting to look away from whatever treatment the Medic was about to instigate, the Sniper spoke to the Scout once more, "So what didja managed to get?"

The Scout shrugged, "Beats the hell outta me. Dropped that stuff down below. I was on fire the whole way, lemme tell ya! Good thing the Doc saw me on my way in, otherwise I mighta been a charred mark on the floor right about now, eh Doc?"

"Yes and vouldn't that have been a tragedy for us all?" the Medic noted with a touch of regret in his voice.

The Sniper gave one, rough laugh before gasping in pain. He didn't care to watch what was being done to his leg, but he snarled through clenched teeth, "That didn't feel like an improvement."

"I'm sorry, did you vant your tibia exposed for the rest of your life?" the Medic asked in an affronted tone before throwing the switch on the health pack, "I barely touched you. Besides, you should be thanking me, ja? You vill be able to walk in ten minutes and, thanks to our speedy comrade here, you vill have a day or so took take a load off."

"Splendid. A vacation sounds lovely," the Sniper noted as he laid back on the bench and allowed the Medic to finish mending his wound. The Medic's health pack whirred to life as he pulled the handle back and began to pump whatever healing ions it contained into the Sniper's leg.

"A vacation? I'm the one gunning my ass around these grounds all day long!" the Scout griped indignantly.

"What was that about a charred mark on the floor, mate?" the Sniper ignored the jab at his occupation and gave the Scout an amiable smile, "Sounds like you missed out on a very exclusive vacation opportunity."

It was the Medic's turn to chuckle as he flipped the handle of the health pack back into place. The Medic finished tending to the Sniper's leg by wrapping a tight bandage around the once injured limb.

The Scout, high on his own ego, snorted at the Sniper's remark and the Medic's accompanying amusement, "Laugh it up, boys. It's my praises you'll be sing'n tonight! And I think I-"

"Howdy," a lazy, Southern drawl interrupted the Scout. The Engineer's goggled head popped up, with startling speed, from behind the Scout (who jumped comically at the sudden appearance of the Engineer), "You boys busy?"

"Not now. We're finished here, vhy? Is there a problem?" the Medic asked as he gave the Sniper's arm a rough tug and forced him to his feet. The Sniper, who protested momentarily with an "Oye!" placed his once injured leg on the floor and, with a mild look of surprise, slapped the Medic's shoulder, "Thanks Doc."

"I would call it a problem, yeah…" the Engineer explained as he scratched his head with one hand and gestured over his shoulder with the other, "Lets just say that our Demolition expert has…well, maybe you should just come and see for yourselves."

"Some'n wrong with my intel, Tex?" the Scout demanded in an offended tone.

"Wouldn't know, the Spy hasn't had a chance to check it out, but that's not the issue," the Engineer gestured over his shoulder once more, "I've really got no words for it, gents. Best just to follow me."

They exited the locker room as a group with the Engineer leading them into the winding hallway. The Scout was grumbling as they marched into the labyrinth-like basement of their fort ("Worked my ass off for that intel, no one's tell'n me it's useless!"), the Sniper glanced down at his leg after every few steps in an attempt to correct the slight limp he now had and the Medic waved his hand to dismiss the worry that the Sniper was not voicing ("Stop vorrying. That vill be gone in a week.").

After following the Engineer into the bowels of the giant fortress, the group stopped short of a closed door at the end of a typically abandoned hallway. The closed door did little to mask the sounds of the bellowing Scotsman.

The Scout cocked his head and looked to the Engineer, "Our empty supply closet?"

"It's not as empty as it once was," the Engineer turned to the Medic and Sniper, "I told him we weren't equipped to handle something like this, but the Demo caught him and the Soldier insisted we decide as a team as to what to do with him."

The Medic and Sniper exchanged a confused glance as the Engineer unlocked the door. The Engineer stepped aside and held the door wide for his teammates, "After you…"

Bright fluorescent lights flooded the tiny, concrete room. It was entirely possible that the supply room had once been labeled a barrack; it had a sink, drain on the floor and a toilet placed carelessly in one corner of the cramped room. There was a spare six feet that could have accompanied a cot and turned the room into a perfectly acceptable military dorm; however, none of the men had wanted it. It was too deep into the base, too far from the action of the front line. So it had been transformed into a makeshift supply room, stocked with tools that were rarely needed.

The room was hot and crowded with the entire team packed inside. In one corner stood the Spy, his shoulders backed against the wall, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips and his eyes focused on the center of the room. Next to the Spy stood the Soldier, who was stroking his chin in way that would have made any sane man concerned about whatever distorted plan he was cooking up. Standing beside the Soldier was the team's Pyrotechnician, a man of a few, muffled words with an axe slung over his shoulder. In a corner all to himself stood the Heavy weapons specialist; he was gazing into the center of the room with utter fascination. Finally, standing in the center of the room, arms crossed and head high with pride, stood the Demolition expert.

Behind the Demo expert, kneeling on the hard stone floor with their arms bound behind their back, was a tenth individual. The tenth member of the awkward meeting was the source of the ruckus: the tenth member was a second Pyrotechnician specialist, decked out in the blue garments of the opposing team.

"What in the hell?" the Scout was the first of the newcomers to speak, "The hell is he doing down here? And why is he alive?"

"I caught 'im, lad! One of me grenades knocked him for a loop when he was chasing you down," the Demo man threw his arm around the bound Pyro, "Ain't that right, my boy?"

The BLU suited Pyro made no response.

"Good for you. Vell done. A fine catch there," the Medic noted with more than a hint of sarcasm, "Now vill someone shoot him so we can be on vith our lives?"

"Nah, no, no Doc," the Scout had a malicious grin spreading across his face, "Hold on a second. Why make it easy for him? He lit my ass up less than an hour ago and I doubt he feels even a bit sorry about that… Yeah, you remember me, don'tcha?"

The BLU Pyro had glanced up at the Scout momentarily before shrugging; he didn't care or couldn't be bothered to care.

With lightening speed, the Scout reared a clenched fist back and swung, with frightening force, at the BLU Pyro. There was a stomach churning crunch as his fist connected with the Pyro's masked head. The Pyro swooned forward just as the Demoman grabbed the straps of his suit to prevent him from crumbling to the floor. Blood began to trickle from the filter on the Pyro's mask.

"Yeah! Bet you're real sorry about lighting me up now, huh? HUH?" the Scout shouted into the Pyro's hanging head.

"Oye! A bit uncalled for, don't you think?" the Sniper growled.

"In his defense, that gentleman has done far worse to all of us," the Spy flicked his cigarette in the Sniper's direction, "A touch of revenge never hurt anyone, no?"

"Vhatever. So ve'll let the little punk beat him to death, ja? Then ve dump the body on the other team's doorstep and call it a successful day," the Medic grumbled, "Are ve through here?"

The team exchanged a series of glances, but no one said a word. The Scout was dancing on the balls of his feet and making quick jabs towards the Pyro's head, ready to deliver another painful blow. The Sniper sighed and turned to leave the room.

It was the Heavy's booming voice that stopped the Sniper and forced all of the team members to look up in surprise, "Ransom!"

There was another moment of silence before the Soldier shouted his support, "An outstanding idea, soldier! Why when I was in Germany-"

"Vait, vait…" the Medic cut the Soldier off before he could begin any deranged story that involved the slaying of his countrymen, "Ransom? You vant us to demand a ransom for his capture?"

"Our enormous compatriot might be on to something," there was a wicked gleam in the Spy's eye as he stepped towards the dazed Pyro, "Perhaps zis one's team would make an exchange? If not, the lack of his presence will be more than helpful to me. I can take advantage of this time and infiltrate the other side with little concern about being caught…"

There was a murmur of agreement.

"And when he's lived out his usefulness, we kill him, right?" the Scout smacked the top of the Pyro's with an open hand, though the strike was hardly gentle. Then the BLU Pyro began to tremble slightly, jerking convulsively and shaking his head. All eyes turned to the shaking captive.

"What's the matter with him?" the Engineer asked lazily.

"He is coward," the Heavy shrugged.

"He is choking on his own blood," the Medic corrected, "Pull the mask off and let him breathe. Might as vell take his gear. Surely you can use it, herr Spy?"

"That I can. It will make my infiltration all the easier," the Spy nodded and reached forward, grasping the Pyro's mask, "And thank you, kind sir."

The Spy gave the Pyro's mask a forceful tug, lifting it off it's owner's head. Blood poured from the mask and splattered on to the floor… and a mass of curly, red hair fell around the Pyro's bloodied face.

There was a collective gasp of shock as the BLU Pyro tilted her head back and gasped for air. Milky white skin and bright green eyes were accentuated by the fresh blood smeared around her mouth and nose.

It was then that everyone began to speak at once.

"Well, well," the Engineer crooned and tipped his hard hat, "Howdy do, little miss."

"Blimey," the Sniper whispered in shock.

"Mmmph?!" the RED Pyro cocked his head in complete confusion.

"What in the hell?" the Scout had backed away from the BLU Pyro, "What in the hell, man?"

"I do love surprises…" the Spy chuckled.

The Heavy, who had begun stroking his chin in contemplation when the Pyro was unmasked, finally seemed to make the connection, "Lady likes fire, yes?"

The Soldier barked with laughter but couldn't seem to bring himself to say anything.

"Guten tag, fraulein," the Medic gave a mocking bow.

"Ah caught meself quite a little surprise, didn't I boys?" the Demoman roared with delight and grasped the BLU Pyro's chin, "Do I get a kiss, love?"

The Pyro jerked her head away from the Demoman's hand and snarled, "Go to hell, all of you!"

"Oooh she's a feisty one, lads!" the Demoman crooned, "A fiery personality makes plenty o' sense for ya, aye?"

"Gentlemen," the Spy spoke above the uproar, "As interesting as this little event has become, it doesn't change a thing: we must decide what should be done."

"I thought ve did decide," the Medic scowled, "We keep her until she's useless und then ve let our youngest beat her to death."

The Scout began to stutter, "H-hey, woah now. Wait. My mom told me never to hit girls…"

A chuckle slowly made it's way around the room.

"I'm…I'm sorry about that," the Scout pointed awkwardly at the BLU Pyro's face and took a step towards the kneeling woman, "Why don't you let the Doc take a look and-"

It was then that the Scout was interrupted by a splatter of blood and saliva; the BLU Pyro had spat, with enormous force, directly into the Scout's face. The young Pyro leaned back on her heels and smirked devilishly through the blood plastered on her face.

The Scout backed away, gagging and wiping his face. The Sniper gave a low, amused chuckle while the Medic, trembling with restrained laughter, held out a clean handkerchief. The Scout snatched the handkerchief from the Medic's hand. There was a look of pure contempt on the Scout's face as he vigorously scrubbed the gore from his face.

"My moms has been wrong before," the Scout snapped. In a flash, he had removed his metal baseball bat from the holster on his back. He took one step forward, arms raised high to strike the BLU Pyro a third time and swung the bat down with immense force.

And his left wrist was caught in the Sniper's vice like grip.

"Enough, mate," the Sniper whispered dangerously, "You're outta line. Try to be a professional."

"Professional my ass! Let go of me!" the Scout snarled.

The Sniper twisted the Scout's arm with one smooth motion, causing the young man to yelp and drop his bat.

"Hey! Let me go man!" the Scout's voice cracked with pain. Everyone in the room but the Sniper and the BLU Pyro snickered.

"Standards even among enemies, dear boy," the Sniper muttered as he applied more pressure to the Scout's wrist, "I could break it to teach you a lesson, you know?"

But just as smoothly as he had grabbed the Scout's wrist, the Sniper released his grip. With his pride and wrist bruised, the Scout glowered at the Sniper as he backed away.

"You blokes were saying?" the Sniper glanced from the Medic to the Spy.

The Spy crossed his arms over his chest, "We vote now. What's to be done?"

"Keep the lady. Ransom for information and helps the Spy sneak into enemy base," the Heavy nodded his head in a sagely manner.

"Aye, me mates," the Demo nodded in agreement, "We keep her."

"Prisoners of war are extremely useful and rare commodities," the Soldier stroked his chin before adding, "Strategically she's worth the risk of a counter attack."

"Mmph mph, mpht mpphmhm mphh wmph mppmhm mpph mmphe," the RED Pyro shook his finger as he rumbled his response.

"What?" the Engineer looked to the RED Pyro.

"He said, 'Keep her, but remember she's worth more alive'," the BLU Pyro spoke suddenly. She was greeted with an awkward silence, so she muttered, "Spend enough time in that gear and you can understand anything anyone says."

"Did you really say that?" the Engineer glanced back to the RED Pyro.

The RED Pyro nodded, "Mph!"

"Excellent. Ve have a translator now," the Medic groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Kill her, keep her, vhatever is best for zhis team."

"I agree. Whatever is best for us," the Sniper shrugged.

The Spy clapped his hands together, "It's settled. Majority vote rulez all."

The Scout was fuming, "What about me?"

"What about you?" the Spy smirked, "Majority rules."

"Kill her. We don't need her and didn't you say we're not equipped to handle prisoners?" the Scout pointed to the Engineer.

"Throw an old mattress on the floor and make sure we slip her some scraps of food. She'll live," the Engineer shrugged, "I'll set up a sentry outside her door as well. She won't bring us any trouble."

The Scout grinned, "And when we don't need her?"

"I'll take care of that," the Sniper said sternly, "A rifle at point blank range is merciful enough."

The Scout, for once in his existence, was silent. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot before he finally spoke, "Fine. I don't care. Do whatever the hell you guys want. I'm out."

His feet slapped the concrete floor in suppressed fury as the Scout exited the room and gave the heavy metal door a vicious slam.

"Majority rules," the Spy repeated, "Gentlemen, we have work to do. Off to our respective duties, si?"

The Spy tapped his watch and disappeared. The Engineer shuddered, "Does anyone else hate it when he does that?"

The Sniper grunted in agreement before the Engineer spoke again, "I'll get my tools to set the sentry up. I could use some help with the heavy lifting. You boys up for help'n a partner out?"

"Aye, got nothin better ta do meself," the Demoman gave the BLU Pyro a rough slap to the shoulder, "'Ave yerself a fine first night, lass."

"I'll help," the Heavy thundered as he followed the Demo and Engineer.

"I'll guard the front, men!" the Soldier shouted as he marched from the prison, "Best keep our wits and eyes about us. If those BLU bastards know we have one of their own there will be hell to pay!"

"Mmph mmrph, mmsh mah," the Pyro said and, with once last glance at his unmasked parallel, left the newly appointed prison cell.

"Vhat did he say?" the Medic asked the BLU Pyro.

"'I'm tired, busy day'" the young woman grumbled, "You've been living with him for how long and you still can't understand him?"

The Medic glared at the BLU Pyro as he spoke to the Sniper, "Watch her. I vill assist the others."

"I could use some medical assistance, in case you haven't noticed?" the Pyro snarled.

"Learn some manners and ve vill talk about your medical treatment. For now you have a sink vith cold vater to clean avay the blood; that should do," the Medic gave the woman a demeaning smirk and left the room with his coat flourishing behind him.

The door clanged as the Medic exited the cell. The Sniper glanced down at the young woman in blue and sighed. Slowly, the Sniper slipped a handkerchief from his vest pocket. He limped to the sink, his wary eyes never leaving the woman in the middle of the room, and turned on the tap. He soaked the handkerchief in icy water before turning to face the young woman on the floor.

The Sniper knelt in front of the Pyro with the wet cloth in his hand.

"Get the hell away from me," the Pyro snapped as the Sniper raised his hand to clean the woman's face.

"Have it your way," he dropped the cloth on the floor in front of the Pyro, "But doing that with your hands tied is going to be difficult."

"Then untie me," the she growled.

The Sniper paused and considered the consequences before he spoke, "Move and I cut your throat."

"Fair enough," the Pyro murmured.

The Sniper placed one hand on the hilt of his kukri and leaned forward, placing his other hand on the knot of ropes that held the Pyro's arms behind her back. A few moments of blind tugging and the ropes came free.

"Never trust a Demolition expert with knots," the Sniper wrapped the excess rope around his wrist, "Now then. Better?"

"In the grand scheme of things? Not really," the Pyro grumbled as she picked up the wet cloth and dabbed gently at her face.

The Sniper stood, crossed his arms and placed his back against the prison door. He glanced down at his watch as the Pyro tended to her wounds. He counted a whole five minutes before he looked back to the young woman. The dried blood was gone, though her face was swollen and bruised from the trauma.

She held the handkerchief up to the Sniper, who waved his hand dismissively, "Keep it."

The Pyro shrugged and tucked the bloodied cloth away. She sat back then, stretching her arms and legs. It was then that she noticed the Sniper glancing her way.

"Thank you," her grumble was almost inaudible.

"For?" the Sniper cocked his head.

"The handkerchief," she muttered bitterly through clenched teeth, as though it physically pained her to thank him, "And for defending me."

"Don't make it more than that, sheila," the Sniper answered plainly, "It's just professional courtesy."

The Pyro scowled, irritated at her captor's tone, "Fine. Thank you for your courtesy."

The Sniper tipped his hat, "Welcome."

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A/N: Oh dear, I'm back and I'm taking on another fic. Isn't it fantastic how I abandoned my last one? Here's my goal: don't abandoned this one. Lets see if I can succeed, shall we? (Placing bets is highly encouraged. You're bound to win something.)

So I'm a Team Fortress 2 addict. Addiction typically leads me to doing something in the fandom; writing a fan fiction, for example. Me putting this on paper (er, screen?) is entirely NarcissisticRiceBall's fault. Blame her and check out her stuff right now!

On to the story itself: I'm so damned obvious and I don't care. It should be no surprise or mystery as to where I'm headed with this one, so sit back, relax and enjoy.

As always, I'm a review whore: questions, comments, complaints and constructive criticism are always welcome.

That's all for now. I'll be back! :D

EDITED 9/17/2012

I have edited some things that stuck out and have annoyed me for ages. Some typos, sentence structure, a conversation here or there… The story remains the same, though. ;)


	2. The Best Laid Plans

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. No money being made. Yadda yadda yadda. See the A/N at the end if you like my rambling (_God help you if you do_).

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Chapter Two: The Best Laid Plans

The Spy had been gone for over two days. He had disappeared on the night of the BLU Pyro's capture and had not been seen from that point on. On the morning of the third day, the team began to exchange bets concerning their Spaniard's fate. Breakfast and betting terms had been served.

"Dead. Twelve more hours and he goes on MIA status," The Engineer stabbed a piece of sausage with unnecessary force, "Ten says he's dead."

"Totally man," The Scout agreed as he loaded his plate with his fourth helping of food, "'Nother ten from me says he's face down in the river."

The Medic, who had scowled at the Scout for taking even more food than on his three previous trips, cracked another half-dozen eggs into his skillet. He carelessly scrapped them around the metal pan as he spoke, "Five says he has betrayed us."

"Have some faith in the creepy bastard," The Sniper, whose leg was propped on the back of the Scout's chair, replied as he flipped through a month old newspaper, "Ten says he's alive and well."

The Heavy, who had followed the scent of freshly cooked food, came stumbling into the kitchen and rubbed his hands together upon seeing the meal that was being served, "Smells good, Doctor."

"Danke," The Medic waved his spatula without looking up.

The Heavy selected a seat beside the Sniper and sat down. He looked around the room before speaking, "Where is rest of team?"

"Spy's dead," The Scout said through a mouthful of eggs, "Pyro took over front guard duty, Cap'n America is probably recoverin' from forty-eight hours of front guard duty and...Demo?"

"Sleeping off his scrumpy downstairs," The Sniper continued as he pointed towards the floor, "Forty-eight straight hours of celebrating his catch may have been a bit much, even for him."

The Scout chuckled and threw a friendly kick towards the Heavy, "Hey, Big Man, whaddaya say we throw his drunk ass on a raft and push him into the river? Imagine the look on his face when he wakes up!"

The Heavy considered the Scout's plan, then bellowed with laughter, "Is great idea! But breakfast first- Ah, thank you Doctor," The Heavy thanked the Medic, who had sat an enormous plate of eggs and sausage before him

"So Spy is dead?" The Heavy continued through a mouthful of chewed sausage.

"Missing for over forty-eight hours," The Engineer pointed out as he generously salted his eggs.

"Spy goes missing all the time," The Heavy waved his meaty hand at the Engineer, "This time so different?"

"Do you remember vhat happened to the last teammate that vent missing that long?" The Medic noted as he selected another link of raw sausage from the refrigerator.

The Heavy gave the Medic's words some thought, then nodded in recollection, "He was charred crisp," the Heavy chuckled, "BLU Pyro is monster, eh?"

"She's not over there now," The Sniper pointed out, "That's why the bloke is still gone. He has the run of the place."

"Hey boys, speaking of the Demo's fine catch..." The Engineer tapped his chin in thought, "Has anyone fed her?"

All of the men shook their heads in unison. The Engineer chuckled softly, "Another ten says our little miss is dead."

"Give me that ten and I'll make sure it happens," The Scout smirked and flexed his arm, "One minute with me and my bat and she won't trouble us anymore."

"Clearly she isn't troubling us now," The Medic noted, "'Troubling' implies that ve vere going out of our vay to tend to her. That is clearly not the case, othervise someone may have fed her."

"She has water down there, I'm sure she's fine," The Sniper dismissed the Engineer's previously stated bet. However, upon denying the Engineer, he set his newspaper on the table, "But three days is a long time without food. It starts to become painful after that."

"So what? She can have whatever is left when we're done," The Scout scoffed and drove his fork back into the large pile of eggs on his plate.

Without a word, the Sniper seized the Scout's plate from the table and rose to his feet. The Scout jumped from his seat, waving his fork in an attempt to be threatening, "Hey man! That ain't right! Give that back!"

The Sniper, unimpressed, chuckled quietly and limped away without a word. As the Sniper limped down the hall, the Scout was beginning to plea for back up, "Doc! You gunna let him do that to me?"

"After vhat he did to you the other day, I vouldn't press your luck, schweinhund," The Medic's voice carried as the Sniper made his way down the hall. The roar of laughter that followed the Medic's remark carried down the hall as well.

The Sniper made his way through the twisted hallways of the fort. During his trek he attempted to ignore his wounded leg. Though being an assassin for the RED front organization paid obscenely well, the Sniper would not dare place his permanent well-being on the line. The Medic had promised him a full recovery in a weeks time. He was a patient man by nature, but the Sniper's concerns did not dissipate. In his line of work leg injuries, particularly permanent ones, could end careers; a fact that he could not afford to test for himself.

The sound of a sentry gun performing a perimeter scan told the Sniper he had arrived at his destination. The sentry gun whirled and turned its turrets on the Sniper. He froze in mid-step, uncertain of the gun's particular settings. Had the Engineer rigged it to fire upon anyone but himself, or were BLU team members its only possible victims? The gun answered his question by giving a disappointed shudder and continuing its scan. The Sniper sighed in relief.

It occurred to him, as he approached the prison door, that he had no means of entering the cell. The Sniper gazed around the hall, wondering if anyone had been foolish enough to leave a key behind. Sure enough, the key was within reach: taped to the top of the sentry gun. The Sniper nimbly reached over the turrets and snatched the key from the cold metal.

"Beg your pardon," The Sniper apologized to the twitching gun. He made a mental note to berate someone for their lack of security details as he pulled the excess tape from the key.

He slid the key into the lock and leaned his weight against the heavy metal door. The door creaked, complaining loudly as the Sniper entered the room.

At first glance, the Sniper feared he owed the Engineer ten dollars. The BLU Pyro was curled up on the old, lumpy mattress that she had been given. Her eyes were closed and she remained motionless even after the door had announced the Sniper's presence. Upon shutting the door, he momentarily bent his lanky figure and set the plate of food in the far corner of the room. The Sniper shifted and knelt beside the old mattress. He reached out to place his fingers on the vital artery in her neck.

That's when a gloved fist came soaring towards his face. Her knuckles barely grazed his chin as he gracefully fell back on his elbows. In an instant, the BLU Pyro was upright, ready to strike again. In the same instant, the Sniper drew his knife from its sheath and placed the tip a mere inch from her neck.

"You're a tad slow," The Sniper said with a smirk.

The young Pyro huffed in frustration and growled quietly, "Put the knife down."

The Sniper cocked an eyebrow, "Not until you promise to be a good girl."

"I'm not promising you a damned thing," The Pyro seethed.

"Then we're at an impasse," The Sniper shrugged, "But if you felt like standing down, you could have yourself a bite to eat."

The Pyro's eyes darted to the plate of food the Sniper had left in the corner of the room, but her gaze quickly returned to the man with the knife.

"I know you're hungry," The Sniper said in a gentle tone, though his machete never wavered.

The Pyro fiercely stared down the man reclining in front of her. Though her emerald eyes emitted nothing but pure, unadulterated hate, the Sniper held her gaze. Several tense moments passed before the Pyro sighed and slumped back in defeat. The Sniper smiled and lowered his weapon, "Now then, much better."

He rose to his feet and retrieved the plate of food. At arm's length, he knelt once more and offered the prisoner her first meal in days.

The Pyro gingerly pulled the plate from the Sniper's fingers. She paused, lost in thought before glancing up at the Sniper, "Fork?"

"Like I'd give you a sharp object," The Sniper scoffed.

"Spoon, at least?" The Pyro snorted.

"Darlin', after what you just did, you're lucky you get the plate," The Sniper, to emphasize his statement, twirled his machete before returning it to its leather holster. To his surprise, the Pyro smirked. The bruised flesh around her mouth and nose blanched as the muscles stretched for the first time in days. Without another word, the Pyro began to ravage the eggs and sausage piled high on the plate.

The Sniper returned to his previous spot: arms crossed with his back against the cell door. After several moments of muffled chewing, the Pyro spoke again, "Don't you have some place to be?"

"And leave you with an object that can be broken into sharp pieces? I think not," The Sniper answered as he stretched his wounded leg.

The Pyro stopped and pondered the Sniper's words, "Hadn't thought of that...Not until you mentioned it," she muttered, more to herself than the Sniper. She went back to her food after a thoughtful and slightly menacing look at the plate.

The Sniper yawned as he waited for the captive to finish her meal. He checked his watch half a dozen times and cleaned his sunglasses twice. Unconsciously, he removed a bullet from his vest pocket and lazily twirled it between his fingers.

"My team won't bargain for me," The Pyro spoke, quite suddenly, between bites.

"Really now?" The Sniper caught the bullet between his ring finger and thumb, "And why is that?"

"I'm replaceable. Your entire team is wasting their time and energy," Her voice was filled with haughty disdain.

The Sniper chuckled, "In case you hadn't noticed, only one member of my team has wasted time on you. That would be me."

"You can't tell me your Spy hasn't been making use of my absence," The Pyro chanced a sideways glance at the Sniper.

"I haven't a clue as to what he's been up to," The Sniper smirked and flipped the bullet end over end, "But I do know that the only one directly suffering from your cheery disposition is me."

The Pyro scowled, "Oh, shut up!"

The Sniper shrugged and shut up. He stretched his leg once more; his swift dodge of the Pyro's punch had clearly irked the already tender limb. There was less than a minute of silence before the Pyro spoke again.

"What's wrong with your leg?" She asked in a less than concerned tone.

"I thought you wanted me to shut up?" The Sniper tilted his head in mock misunderstanding.

It was the Pyro's turn to shrug, "Fine. Be that way."

The Sniper snorted and slipped the bullet he had been toying with back into his pocket. He opened his mouth to give a snide remark when the sound of heavy footsteps descending a staircase caused him to turn his head towards the door he reclined against. The steps that led into the long hallway that held the prison cell were some distance away, but the rhythmic sound of a man walking down a staircase could easily be heard.

"You knew I was coming," The Sniper smirked in realization, "Clever girl..."

The Pyro smiled at her now empty plate, "I had hoped you were that cocky asshole with the bat."

"If you were too weak to catch me, you'da never caught him," The Sniper stepped away from the door as he spoke.

"Feeding me was a mistake then, wouldn't you say?" She flipped her curly hair as she held up the empty plate. The Sniper grabbed hold of the plate but, when he attempted to remove it from the Pyro's hand, felt a shocking amount of resistance. He scowled at the young woman, who was beaming from ear to ear, before forcefully ripping it from her hand.

The Pyro gave a high-pitched, satisfied "Hmm" as the sounds of a key being slipped into the prison door were heard. After a moment of work, the door swung open and revealed the Engineer.

"I owe you ten big ones," The Engineer grumbled and began to search through his overall's pockets.

The Sniper didn't miss a beat, "You owe me twenty."

"I what?" The Engineer demanded in an affronted tone.

The Sniper pointed at the very alive BLU Pyro.

"Oh damn it!" The Engineer grumbled before giving an apologetic nod to the Pyro, "Pardon my language, miss."

"Pardoned," The Pyro, far from offended, waved her hand dismissively.

The Engineer seized a wad of one dollar bills from his pockets and thrust them into the Sniper's hands. The Sniper smiled and began to count his winnings, "So he's alive?"

"Alive, but he's been better. Reckon you better see for yourself," The Engineer turned to leave, "He wants everyone top side ASAP."

"I have money to collect, mate" The Sniper smiled and slid his new wad of cash into his back pants pocket, "I'll be right behind you."

As the Engineer slammed the door shut, the Pyro glared at the Sniper, "You were betting on me?"

"He said you were dead, I said otherwise," The Sniper opened the prison door and gave the Pyro a smug grin over his shoulder, "Thanks to you, love, I'm a wealthier man."

"Allow me to express my excitement for you, you inbred bush-" The Pyro began to snarl, but was silenced by the slam of the cell door.

The Sniper locked the cell door and, knowing full well that the Pyro could hear him, called into the cold metal, "Terribly rude, that, did you know?"

"Bite'n the hand that fed her?" The Engineer asked with a sly grin.

"If I had gotten' close enough, I imagine so," The Sniper returned the Engineer's grin. They ascended the stairs in unison.

"Pretty thing, though," The Engineer commented as they made their way back to the upper levels of the fort.

"Reckon," The Sniper nodded in agreement and added, "But I prefer a woman who won't turn me into a pile of ash during a blue."

The Engineer turned his head and gaped, "What?"

"You're to smart'a man to ask that as often as you do," The Sniper noted as they entered the packed kitchen. The RED team members that had been enjoying breakfast were gathered around the kitchen table. Seated in the center of the RED mass, looking far to smug for a man with a bleeding shoulder wound, was the Spy.

"Welcome to the party, gentlemen," The Spy raised his good arm and waved as the Medic examined his injured shoulder.

The Medic prodded the Spy's dribbling shoulder as though it were a new toy, "Lucky you, it missed the joint. Lets move you into the infirmary, ja? Heavy, if you vould, please."

The Heavy cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms before sidling up to the Spy, "With pleasure, Doctor."

"Are you about to do what I think- Put me down you great oaf! I am perfectly capable of walking!" The Spy protested as the Heavy lifted him from his chair and slung him, like a sack of potatoes, over his shoulder, "Zis is outrageous treatment of an injured teammate. You are wrinkling my suit!"

The Scout roared with laughter and threw his arm around the Engineer, who echoed the Scout's laugh. The Sniper and Medic carried the laughter on as the Heavy trudged down the hall with the flailing Spy on his shoulder. They followed the Russian and whining Spaniard into the Medic's infirmary. The Heavy slung the Spy, none to gently, onto the nearest cot and brushed his hands after a job well done. The Heavy remained beside the Spy, beaming happily.

"If you are expecting a thank you," The Spy snorted, "Do not hold your breath."

"Spy is rude," The Heavy crossed his massive arms and glared at the Spy.

"Alright, back avay," The Medic shooed the Heavy to the side of the room, "And you did a fine job, ja?"

The Heavy beamed as the Medic selected a first aid kit and pulled a chair to the Spy's bed side. The Spy gingerly slid his jacket from his shoulders, wincing as he removed his injured arm from its sleeve. As he removed the crisp, white shirt beneath his jacket, the Medic retrieved a massive syringe from first aid kit at his feet.

"I do not like needles," The Spy gave the Medic a nervous glance, "They become much more unnerving when you are the one using them."

"Silence," The Medic, without warning, jammed the syringe into the Spy's deltoid and gave the plunger a rough squeeze, "You vill vant painkillers for this."

The Spy went pale beneath his ski mask, though his pride seemed to keep him up right, "Cheers, Doctor."

"So what the hell happened to you?" The Scout chimed in as the Medic began to retrieve the bullet lodged in the Spy's shoulder.

"I made some startling revelations, my young friend," The Spy answered as he began to dig into his jacket with his uninjured arm, "If you would retrieve a cigarette for me, I would be much obliged to tell you my findings."

The Scout snatched the jacket from the Spy's lap and began to search through the pockets. The Sniper removed his cigarette lighter without prompt and, when the Scout held up a cigarette for the Spy, extended his arm.

"Thank you, gentlemen," The Spy light his cigarette and inhaled deeply, "Where was I?"

"You were about to tell us just what the hell you've been up to for the past few days," The Engineer spoke up.

"Ah, si. Startling revelations indeed. First, our man-handling companion," The Spy gestured to the Heavy, "Was correct about the lack of security. Without their flaming terror, I waltzed through the front gate without a single BLU member batting an eye at my presence."

"You vere disguised as the missing team-mate," The Medic noted, "Not much of an accomplishment."

"Patience, Doctor," The Spy exhaled a cloud of smoke towards the Medic, "They did not notice me for the first forty-eight hours. I was only discovered when their own Spy figured out that I was not who I seemed."

"How?" The Heavy bellowed in curiosity.

"That would be the startling revelation," The Spy chuckled, "He knew something was amiss when I refused to remove the gas mask...It seems our captive has a special place in my doppelganger's heart."

Silence filled the room as the Spy's words set in. The Heavy seemed confused, the Scout disgusted, the Sniper intrigued and the Engineer merely shrugged. No one voiced an opinion, but the silence was finally broken by the sound of the bullet previously lodged in the Spy's shoulder clanging into a metal pan in the Medic's hand. The Spy sighed in relief.

"We exchanged a few words, but a few more bullets," The Spy continued as the Medic began to set up his Medigun, "Through our less than polite exchange he informed me of a very interesting fact: they would never barter for her return."

"She told me the same earlier today," The Sniper noted. (The Scout murmured as the Sniper spoke, "Outta just shot her in the first place. Useless.")

"Ah, but I feel his words were a sham," The Spy shook his head, "You see, my good gunman, I wreaked quite a bit of havoc before I was forced to retreat. I destroyed three of their most valuable guns, stole four very thick envelopes of precious information... The best of all this? They know I am fully capable of returning and repeating my actions again and again..."

"Vhat exactly are you saying?" The Medic gave the Spy a curious glance as he flipped the Medigun on.

"I am saying that our plan is working," The Spy gave the men in the room a smug smile, "I expect them to do one of two things in the next few days: they will launch a rescue mission or they will send an emissary to discuss her release."

"Awh, this means we ain't shoot'n her?" The Scout moaned and slumped dramatically.

"Not yet, my speedy companion, not yet," The Spy took a long, satisfying drag from his cigarette.

Silence fell on the room once more. After the sounds of the Medigun powering down abided, the Engineer chuckled and elbowed the Sniper in the ribs, "Ten says the BLU Spy comes to spring his dame free."

* * *

A/N: Well, well, chapter two down. It's a pity the Half-Life section is so quiet, because there is some excellent work on here. I get bored writing my crap and read the things on here and feel inferior. It's this pattern I have. I'm a glutton for punishment.

I feel it's time I made a note here: the rating for this fic will be changing down the line. I originally rated it M but, in a shameless attempt to get people to read my crap, I lowered it to T. I'll give a much more obvious warning at the beginning of the chapter that will be raising the rating level. I know which chapter it is (it's already written, actually) but I'm not certain how many chapters will come before it.

So, to the actual chapter notes: I'm not to thrilled with the second half. Why? I love writing the RED Sniper and the BLU Pyro interacting with one another, so everything else strikes me as boring. I love the chemistry I imagine them having, so I can only hope I'm delivering their scenes together well.

You know _how_ I can know I've done a good job or if I utterly and completely suck? You_ can tell me! Seriously_. That review button is right there...You know you want to! ;D

Thanks for stopping by! Until next time...

EDITED 9/17/2012


	3. The Root of All Evil

Disclaimer: No money being made. A/N's available at the end. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Three: The Root of All Evil

Though it had taken some time and less than gentle persuasion, the Sniper no longer feared an assassination attempt every time he opened the prison door. The first four times he delivered food to the BLU Pyro, she had made some form of violent retaliation. Each attempt failed, for he skillfully countered her pitiful attacks. Her last attempt resulted in the Sniper seizing her arm and, as gentlemanly as he could, throwing her to the hard floor.

"This is getting old, sheila," The Sniper had muttered as he pressed his knee between the Pyro's shoulder blades, pinning her to the ground, "And downright rude."

"I agree," The Pyro snarled into the floor, "It's extremely rude to kneel on a woman's back."

"Clever," The Sniper quipped but refused to allow the Pyro to move, "What do you say to this being our last row, hmm?"

"You'll be letting me go, then? Splendid," The Pyro turned her head to glare at the Sniper, "I'll get my things."

The Sniper made a soft clicking noise with his tongue, shook his head and made no move to release the woman from her spot on the floor.

"Fine," She snorted against the floor, "You do bring my food."

"That I do," The Sniper quickly released the Pyro and offered her a covered dish he had previously held behind his back. (He had begun covering the food he brought her after one of their altercations left him covered in mashed potatoes.)

"Meat, again?" The Pyro grumbled after opening the dish. Despite her complaint she immediately began to eat, "Do you men ever eat fruit or vegetables?"

"I'll tell our chef about your request," The Sniper scoffed as he reclined in a corner of the cell. He selected a cigarette from his pocket, slid it between his lips and snapped open his lighter. Just as he raised the flame to the tip of the cigarette he noticed the BLU Pyro staring at him.

"I'm sorry. Do you mind?" The Sniper gestured to the cigarette hanging from his lips.

"Only if you don't plan on sharing," She replied with a surprisingly charming smile.

The Sniper paused, then shrugged. He pulled a second cigarette from his pocket. The Pyro leaned forward to take the stick, only to have the Sniper shake his head and lean back.

"I'm not letting you within a foot of an open flame," He smirked as he placed the second cigarette in his mouth. The Pyro chuckled softly as the Sniper expertly lit both cigarettes.

"You're smarter than you look," She chimed as he held out a lit cigarette. The Pyro carefully plucked the cigarette from the Sniper's fingers and lifted it to him in a gesture of 'cheers'. In unison, they inhaled and exhaled a puff of narcotic smoke.

* * *

Once she had ceased her maniacal attempts to kill him the moment he set foot in the cell, the BLU Pryo made for decent company. The Sniper found himself enjoying his twice daily chore of delivering food and, despite her previous attempts at cold-blooded murder, she too seemed mildly happy to see him each time he returned. She was borderline pleasant and, as a reward (which was, in fact, an attempt to keep her from becoming bored and plotting his demise once again), the Sniper delivered a stack of old newspapers to keep her entertained.

The BLU Pyro's presence was a welcomed relief for the Sniper during the week of the Spy's return. The Medic demanded that the Spy make a full recovery before returning to his duties. With his wounded arm in a sling, the Spy could not claim he was in top form and, though he vehemently protested the Doctor's orders, remained at the base. His lack of intriguing tactical duties and forced recuperation made him a menace to some of his teammates while providing an endless array of entertainment for the others.

"I see your three dollars," The Spy selected a stack of poker chips and tossed them into a larger pile in the center of the kitchen table, "And raise you another three."

"Call," The Scout said as soon as the chips hit the table.

The Spy smirked and, with a victorious smirk, turned his cards face up, "Full house," he began to collect the large pile of chips for himself.

"What?" The Demoman yelled and clamped his hand on to the Spy's un-slung arm, "That'd be yer fourth winning hand in a row, wouldn't it now, lad?"

"Hey yeah!" The Scout quickly reached for his bat and pointed it at the Spy in a threatening gesture, "You're up to somethin', ya always are..."

"Your inability to play poker has nothing to do with me, amigos," The Spy said in a cheeky tone.

In a flash, the Scout leaned forward and used his bat to prod the sling that held the Spy's injured arm. Instantly, a pile of cards tumbled from the sling and on to the floor around the Spy. There was a moment of fury laden silence. Then, slowly, as if to avoid startling someone, the Spy extinguished his cigarette in the ash tray on the table.

"Ahem," The Spy cleared his throat, "Gentlemen?" he tapped his watch and disappeared in a flurry of excess poker cards.

"Ya great cheatin' sissy!" The Demoman roared as he leapt from his seat, "Come on, lad! Lets find the scoundrel!"

"Lets get 'im!" The Scout shouted as he followed the Demoman's example and exploded from the kitchen table. Both men took off, sprinting in opposite directions and screaming incoherently at the top of their lungs.

Meanwhile the Heavy, who had been sitting in silence opposite the Spy, placed his cards on the table and shouted, "Go fish!"

"So close," The Engineer, who had been bearing witnessing to the entire poker match for his own personal amusement, chuckled and patted the Heavy on the shoulder, "But their proclivity for the hunt automatically makes you the winner."

"I buy everyone a round of drinks with winnings," The Heavy noted as he happily collected his poker chips.

"I'd be much obliged if you did," The Engineer tipped his hard hat as the Sniper entered the kitchen. The Sniper began an excavation into the fridge, which drew the Engineer's attention, "Whatcha lookin' for?"

"Fruit or vegetables," The Sniper responded, but as an afterthought added, "Been cravin' an apple, but anything fresh'll do."

"Put it on the market list," The Engineer waved his hand towards nothing in particular, "I'll see what I can scare up for you the next time I have to go into town."

"Thanks mate," The Sniper turned to leave but was greeted by the Soldier. He gave the Soldier a half-hearted salute, "Day guard over, captain?"

"Affirmative!" The Soldier returned the salute as he marched up to the Sniper and poked him, quite pointedly, in the chest, "Fire boy is on night shift again. When will you be well enough to pick up some slack around here, private?"

"Soon," The Sniper rolled his eyes and, with as much genuine respect he could muster, added, "Very soon, captain."

"He has the full time duty of feeding that wild filly downstairs," The Engineer noted as he selected a second beer from the fridge and tossed it to the Sniper, "I'd say that's harrowing enough of a job right there."

"Keep a brumby locked up long enough and its spirit breaks," The Sniper shrugged and uncapped his bottle, "She doesn't try to tear my throat out like she used to."

"Wouldn't drop my guard around a prisoner, private," The Soldier leaned into the Sniper, who backed away in an attempt to regain his personal space, "Why, I remember a time in Germany in '47-"

"1947?" The Medic appeared from behind the doorway corner, "Vhy vere you still in Germany in 1947?"

"Fighting against those Nazi devils for American freedoms, of course! Those Nazi citizens put up a fight, they did. No match for me and my group of dedicated men! But when Nazism gets a hold of a country and refuses to-" The Soldier was interrupted, once more, by the irked Medic.

"The var ended in 1945, you idiot!" The Medic growled, "What vere you still doing in my country in 1947?"

"You Nazi bastards bombed Pearl Harbor!" The Soldier retorted as the Engineer and Sniper exchanged a look of shared confusion, "How did you expect the good ol' US of A to react to such an atrocity?"

"Vhat?" The Medic was furious, though the sheer level of misinformed facts confused him, "And I am not nor have I ever been a Nazi! I vas seventeen vhen the Nazis bombed my city and I joined-"

"Mmph!" The Pyro came sprinting into the kitchen, flailing his arms like a madman and nearly knocking the Medic off his feet, "Mph Mpy msh mmph!"

"What'ssat Lassie?" The Engineer called past the Soldier and the Medic to cheerfully mock the Pyro, "Timmy fall in the well?"

"Muph mph!" The Pyro made a less than polite hand gesture to the Engineer, then pointed towards the battlements, "Mph!"

"What's going on?" The Sniper asked as the Pyro seized the front of his shirt and began to drag him towards the battlements, "Mates, I think somethin's up."

All of the RED team members relaxing in the kitchen made their way to the front of the base, with the frantic Pyro leading the way. The Pyro dragged them into the warm, night-time air and pointed down the platform to the bridge below. Standing in the middle of the bridge with a briefcase at his feet, his arms crossed and a vicious scowl on his face was none other than the BLU Spy.

"Well I'll be damned," The Engineer muttered as he glanced out beyond the metal barricade. He then slapped the Sniper's shoulder, "You owe me ten dollars, son."

"Later," The Sniper nodded and turned to look behind his present teammates (a task, with the Heavy present, which was difficult in and of itself), "Where's-?"

"Buenos noches, senor," The RED Spy, who suddenly appeared in the center of the barrack's platform, called down to his BLU twin, "How polite of you to come alone...Or how stupid of you."

"Underestimating me again, I see," The BLU Spy called back, "I thought you would 'ave learned your lesson after our last encounter."

As the BLU Spy spoke, the RED Sniper saw a dot of blue light scanning the barrack's platform. The BLU dot came to rest on the Heavy's forehead, directly between his eyes. The Heavy blinked momentarily and swatted at his face as though a fly had buzzed too close. The RED Sniper reached out and gently pushed the Heavy behind the safety of the metal sheeting before whispering, "Not a smart place to be, mate."

The laser sighting of the BLU Sniper scanned the platform once more before settling on the RED Spy, who scoffed as the dot of light illuminated his chest, "Psh, please!"

"I need only to snap my fingerz," The BLU Spy called, "And you will 'ave another hole in your torso, monsieur."

"If your threats truly concerned me, we would not be having this conversation," The RED Spy stepped towards the edge of the platform as if to taunt the unseen BLU Sniper, "But lets get on with this, si? I know why you're here."

"We were never meant to take prisonerz, my good man," The BLU Spy said sternly, "You are breaking international humanitarian codes concerning-"

"This is a private battle, outside the laws of whatever nation you or I call home," The RED Spy silenced him and smirked, "There were no codes of war set down by either of our shadow companies. I know because I have the documentation that would say so...from both companies, of course."

"You seem fond of our team's information... Keep it, it was superficial at best," The BLU Spy brushed his suit in a nonchalant gesture, "We want our Pyrotechnician back."

"What men would not?" The Heavy chuckled softly, and his comment caused a small chain reaction of laughter among the RED team.

"And you just want us to hand her over, si?" The RED Spy knelt at the edge of the platform and pointed to the briefcase on the ground beside the BLU Spy, "I see you have not come empty handed."

"Ten thousand dollars in exchange for her return," The BLU Spy seized the handle of the briefcase and, in one fluid motion, threw it to the RED Spy, "Feel free to count it, it iz all there."

The RED Spy caught the briefcase and, just as smoothly as his counterpart, threw the briefcase into the Engineer's hands, "Count it."

The Engineer gave a long, low whistle as he unlatched the briefcase and began to run his fingers along the edges of the clean, crisp bills within it. He counted, quickly and quietly, to himself as he sifted through the briefcase. After a moment of counting, he repeated the process.

With his recount complete, the Engineer nodded to the RED Spy, "Ten thousand big ones, just like he said. Look real too."

"I am nothing if not honest," The BLU Spy said with a pompous bow, which caused the RED Engineer to scoff loudly.

"Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money, senor. A lot of money..." The RED Spy nodded and stroked his chin, "...But it isn't enough, is it? How dare you insult us in such a way!"

"Vhat?" The RED Medic snarled to the Spy, "Ten thousand dollars is not enough? Are you mad? Let us get rid of her and be done vith this!"

"Listen to your Doctor, monsieur, he iz a wize man," The BLU Spy chuckled, "She iz too dangerous to be worth your trouble; if anyone knows that fact it would be me, oui?"

"If we were to kill her," The RED Spy looked to the Medic, though his harsh, quick tone was meant for the BLU Spy, "They would need a new Pyrotechnician and it takes months to find someone suicidal enough to take on such a dangerous profession. Months without a guardian who can truly put a stop to me. It would also cost them twenty thousand to hire and train their new Pyro...This ten thousand is a cop-out. I know because I have the documents that say so."

The BLU Spy had grimaced, only for a moment, at the RED Spy's words, "I merely brought the amount that my superiors commanded me to bring. Your idle threats are not necessary"

"If you do not bring twenty thousand to us within the month, they will not be idle," The RED Spy snapped, rose to his feet and crossed his uninjured arm over his chest, "You want her back? We want the price she's worth...And then some. We are feeding her, after all."

"I..." The BLU Spy paused to adjust his tie, sighed and turned away before calling, "I will zee if I can arrange zomething with my superiors."

The RED Spy gave his team a triumphant smirk.

"However, consider the amount you were given tonight a payment for well-being. You will not harm her," The BLU Spy turned and scanned the faces of the RED team members, "She's no good dead, oui?"

"Never fear, my friend, she's in good hands," The RED Spy placed special emphasis on his words as he bowed, "Now leave."

The BLU Spy took one last drag from his cigarette before flicking it towards the RED base and tapped the watch on his wrist. The air shimmer around him as he disappeared from view. The blue dot from the opposing sniper rifle remained on the RED Spy's chest for only a moment longer, then disappeared.

The RED Spy chuckled softly and turned to his teammates, "Lets adjourn to more comfortable settings, si?"

The RED team members were silent as they returned to the safety of the inner base, but the moment they broke the threshold to the kitchen there was an eruption of cat calls and cheers as each team-mate slapped the RED Spy on the back.

"You did well!" The Heavy roared and lifted the Spy into a massive bear hug. There was an unpleasant crunching noise as the Spy disappeared into the Heavy's massive arms.

"You...are...hurting...me!" There was a muffled whimper coming from the Spy as he attempted to wiggle from the Heavies grasp. The Heavy dropped the Spy, who seemed momentarily dazed and confused, "Gracias, my giant friend, gracias...But I imagine my counterpart is not known for his bargaining abilities."

"Hey, what's goin' on in here?" The Scout and Demoman entered the room after their search for the Spy had gone awry, "There you are! You cheatin' son of a-"

"Gentlemen, I have seen the error of my ways and I wish to pay you for my transgressions," The Spy said to the Scout and Demoman as he took the briefcase of ransom money from the Engineer's hands. The Spy selected two stacks of bills from the case and tossed them, individually, to the Scout and Demo, "Enjoy."

"Aye mah boyo," The Demoman stared at his newly acquired wealth, "Whatever we were goin' on about is forgiven!"

"Hell yeah man," The Scout was staring at his own stack of bills, "Where'd this come from?"

"From our delightfully incompetent opponents who assumed that we were as equally as incompetent as they," The Spy began to select stacks of money and distribute them to each of his teammates, "It seems my twin was not aware I had stolen their hiring records."

"Twenty thousand for a Pyrotechnician specialist," The Engineer glanced to their own Pyro as he fingered his stack of money, "Think'n you need a raise, son?"

"Mph," The Pryo shrugged as the Spy tossed him his own cut of the money. The Spy continued to divy up the stacks of cash, handing a grand a piece to the Heavy, Medic and Soldier before selecting the final two stacks of cash. The Spy approached the Sniper as the others celebrated their new-found wealth. He slowly placed his long, uninjured arm around the Sniper's shoulders, "We must speak."

"Must we?" The Sniper asked as he took his portion of the ransom money from the Spy.

"I have a plan," The Spy whispered and gave the Sniper a wicked smirk, "And I will need you to assist me."

"And why would you be needing my help?" The Sniper muttered, lowering his voice to match the Spy's.

"A little bird told me our dear lady tolerates your presence," The Spy began quietly, but he stopped when he made eye contact with the Sniper.

"You heard me say so yourself, mate. You were in the room the entire time," The Sniper responded with a touch of annoyance.

"Smart man," The Spy chuckled, "None the less. She tolerates you?"

"I reckon so," The Sniper shrugged, "Why?"

"Because I want to make her presence here worthwhile," The Spy leaned into the Sniper and spoke against his ear, "I want information."

The Sniper paused, quietly considering the Spy's words, "Like?"

"Delivery times for their supplies, guard duty rotations, a map out of their base, anything," The Spy whispered, "I want to return to my duties as a well informed man."

"Listen, mate, there's a difference between tolerance and trust," The Sniper muttered, "She doesn't trust me. She doesn't trust at all. You know a Pyro's duty is to be suspicious and wary at all times. Wary of you, namely."

"I want her presence here to be worth while," The Spy ignored the Sniper's protests as he tightened his grip on the Sniper's shoulder, "Before we kill her."

"Killing her, are we?" The Sniper gently pushed the Spy's arm from his shoulder, "And the ransom you demanded tonight?"

"We'll receive it, my good man, don't you worry," The Spy selected two cigarettes from his pocket and extended one to the Sniper, "We will have our ransom and I will roam the halls of the BLU base for months without worry."

"And how will we be gettin' a ransom if she's dead? Did that detail slip your mind, mate?" The Sniper asked as he took the cigarette he had been offered.

"You will be assisting me again, my good marksman," The Spy smiled, "We will accept the ransom and send her back to her team mates just as planned. When the money is in my hands, you will pull the trigger."

"You... want me to shoot her as she returns to her team?" The Sniper asked quietly.

The Spy nodded, "There's three grand in it for you, amigo. Enough to buy yourself a thousand acres of land in that fine country of yours."

The Sniper slid the cigarette into his mouth as the Spy produced a lighter from his suit pocket. The Spy lifted the flame to the Sniper's cigarette, but the Sniper held up his hand to stop him, "Make it four grand and you'll have yourself an assassin."

The Spy seemed as though he were about to protest, but he chuckled and raised his lighter to the Sniper's cigarette, "Four grand it is, amigo."

* * *

A/N: Chapter three done. I'll be putting up a chapter a week, it seems. Don't cross your fingers. We'll just call that an estimate.

Just wanted to pass on a thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed for me. I love reading feedback and I always appreciate it!

For the actual chapter notes: The Team Fortress 2 characters have always struck me as the type of men who would be willing to do just about anything for the right price. The two biggest examples of this concept would be the Spy and Sniper. A spy is a traitor for money and a sniper will blow anyone's brain out for the right price. So, when offered a chance to increase their wallet size, do you really think they would pass it up? Of course not! I can, most definitely, see them kidnapping an opposing team-mate, ransoming them, then killing them just for the hell of it.

My RED Spy has made a big deal about the lack of a BLU Pyro. Why? Two words: Spy Checking. It's (unofficially) one of the Pyro's jobs and it keeps most Spy's at bay. A team without a Pyro to do random Spy Checks is almost always over run with Spies. I've just taken this concept and tried to exploit it in the story. Cheap? Possibly. A good plot device? You tell me!

Which brings me to the usual ending: questions, comments, applicable and useful critiques are always welcome.

Until next time!

EDITED 9/17/2012


	4. Situational Awareness

Disclaimer: No money being made. A/N's available at the end. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Four: Situational Awareness

There had never been a job he had not accomplished. In all of his years as a sniper, he had never missed a shot that had money linked to it. Most of his former jobs had been private deals with some dark, cloaked figure who had approached him in a dingy bar or quiet alleyway. Easy money for easy targets: a young mob boss here, a crooked politician there. The Sniper had always been paid to do certain skull shattering deeds and he had succeeded each time. However, this time was different.

Shooting her wouldn't be the issue. Hardly. A second chance at a previously missed shot was a rare occurrence in his line of work and he would be damned if he would not try again. No, killing her was the easy part of the bargain: it was gaining her trust that would be his undoing.

The Sniper was considered a man of few words. Days upon days of nothing but a high-powered rifle to converse with could leave anyone quietier. Unlike others in his line of work, however, he was not yet a recluse. He could still socialize: knock a few back with his boys at a bar or take in a cricket game or two. Though the opportunity rarely presented itself, he was perfectly capable of being an average man.

However, this was different. This wasn't a teammate or an old chum, this was someone who, up until recently, had been attempting to take his life. She was resigned now, calmer than before, but he knew that meant nothing. She set men ablaze for a living. She cooked human flesh without a second thought. Despite a pretty face and a now serene persona, she was still a maniacal killer. And he had to gain her trust.

All of this passed through his mind as he approached her cell on the morning following his newfound orders.

"Bloody hell," The Sniper muttered wearily as he grasped the door handle.

He stepped into the prison and closed the door behind him. The BLU Pyro was seated, cross-legged, on her old mattress with a pile of newspapers beside her. She was so engrossed in one of the papers that she merely grunted a welcome and refused to look up.

"G'day to you too," The Sniper said as he sat a bowl of oatmeal beside her. She waved a hand dismissively, too engaged in her reading to properly greet him.

He chose his usual spot in the corner of her cell. She continued to ignore him and, with his new found orders in mind, he realized the newspapers may have been a preëmptive idea. Had he not had four thousand dollars riding on every conversation with her, he would not have cared that she felt no need to speak this particular morning. Having not a clue about how he should begin, he stole a few sideways glances at the young woman to begin an assessment of sorts.

She was attractive. All dangerous and mentally unstable women were, but he had concluded that long before he had met her. She was far more appealing when she was not covered in her own blood or trying to break his neck. The swelling and bruising from the Scout's baseball bat had nearly gone. Only a faint green hue remained on the skin around her nose and left cheek. To his amusement, her eyes, flicking back and forth as she read her paper, almost matched her healing bruises. Pale, smooth skin made her fiery red curls all the more prominent.

That's when she noticed he was staring.

"What?" There was a touch of annoyance in her voice.

The Sniper then did what he would always do when he lacked a proper subject: he spoke of his family.

"I have a niece your age," He said plainly.

The BLU Pyro paused, gave him a quizzical look and, to his complete surprise, began to laugh.

"No you don't," She scoffed as she returned to her newspaper.

He scowled, "Calling me a liar?"

"No, merely correcting you," She answered, "You do not have a niece my age."

"Last I saw her she was celebratin' her seventeenth birthday," The Sniper recalled out loud, "Last I was home was almost two years ago."

"Like I said," The Pyro snorted but did not look up to respond, "You don't have a niece my age."

"You're to young to be mixed up in something like this," The Sniper muttered, "How old are you?"

"Old enough to tell you you're rude for asking," She glared at him above the newspaper. He took that moment to lean forward and examined her eyes once more. Small, barely distinguishable lines were beginning to form in the pale skin around her eyes. The Pyro, upon realizing she was being viewed again, shifted away and raised the newspaper once more.

"Well then, wouldn't have guessed that," The Sniper smirked, "An older woman wouldn't be involved in such as this."

"You just said I was too young to be mixed up in this," The Pyro grumbled, "Which is it?"

"Both," He answered, "Shouldn't you be raisin' a family rather than turning men into human wicks?"

"Shouldn't you be out in the bush country giving photo opportunities to tourists?" She snapped, though a smirk threatened the corner of her lips.

It was his turn to laugh, "Too boring."

"And the thought of being a house wife bores me," She answered his previous question.

"Does killing ease your boredom?" The Sniper raised a brow as he questioned her.

"Does it ease yours?" She quipped in return.

He paused, taking a moment to consider his own question, "I reckon so. Pays the bills, at least."

The Pyro shrugged, uninterested, and returned to her newspaper once again. The Sniper, however, was determined to make some headway in his mission and continued to press her, "Why fire?"

Rather than an ill-mannered retort, the Pyro lowered her newspaper and gave the Sniper a thoughtful look. Uncertain as to what he had accomplished by asking such a question, the Sniper remained silent. He watched, in keen interest, as she bit her bottom lip and gave his question genuine thought.

"Have you ever seen a wild fire?" She finally asked. The Sniper nodded in confirmation and the Pyro, in a tone of voice that most would reserve for holy reverence, continued, "You've seen it, then. The way the flames devour all that they touch. The sheer brutality, the unstoppable might, the fear it arouses in those caught in its path. Fire, by its very nature, is uncontrollable. Unbiased in its destruction. Do you know what it's like to command something so devastating? To have the control of something so powerful and beautiful at your fingertips? I control one of nature's most powerful entities. I wield the very force that the ancient gods were unwilling to bestow upon mankind…"

She stopped then, and they were both silent. The Sniper was still captivated by her words, by the passion and monstrosity of them. She was more dangerous, more unpredictable than he had ever fathomed. She was more than a mindless killer, she was a philosopher with a torch. Few things in the world were more dangerous than a murderer with a poet's soul.

The Pyro seized her bowl of cold oatmeal and slowly began to prod her food. The Sniper was still watching her, still mulling her words over in his mind. After several long moments of silence it was her turn to break the stillness, "Why a sniper rifle?"

He needed no time to consider her question, "Because I was the best."

She stared blankly before realizing that was all he intended to say, "That's it?"

"That's it," The Sniper shrugged.

"You chose to be an assassin because 'you were the best'? You don't do what you do for personal satisfaction? Enjoyment? For glory? Hell, even for money?" The Pyro seemed disappointed, almost irked that his reasons were so plain.

The Sniper almost laughed at the irony of her last words, "Money is a big part of it, I reckon. It pays well, but it's still just my job. A job I'm mighty good at, but nothing more. The moment it becomes more is the moment it becomes too dangerous."

"You seemed like more than just the job and the money... I think I was wrong about you," The Pyro mused in a dissatisfied tone.

As the realization of how far he had sunk when accepting his new task stuck him, the Sniper gave a dry, almost pained laugh, "You haven't a clue how right you are, sheila."

* * *

A week of uncharacteristic stillness passed. The base had been silent for far too long and it's inhabitants were getting restless. The battlements were watched around the clock, but that was a one man duty. The eight remaining men passed the time by cleaning weapons, restocking supplies or picking fights amongst themselves. Due to the boredom induced bickering, the Medic was the only man who seemed to have actual work to do.

The Sniper had spent most of his unoccupied hours within the weapons lockup, modifying his rifle for improved scope accuracy. He was rummaging through the gun locker in search of a special lens when the Spy, in his traditional form of greeting, appeared out of thin air beside him. The Sniper jumped, startled, and aimed his smaller side arm at the Spy.

"Blimey man," The Sniper groaned as he lowered his SMG, "You really ought not do that. Goin' to get yourself shot."

"It would not be the first time," The Spy said as he unconsciously rubbed his wounded shoulder, "A thousand pardons for the entrance, but I wanted to make certain you were alone."

"What does it matter?" The Sniper shrugged, then turned slightly towards the Spy and muttered an accusation he had been mulling over for some time, "Unless the others don't know about our plot and you're stealing some of my reward money from the other shares of the ransom."

"Stealing is such a strong word," The Spy grinned, "I prefer...Oh, no, I suppose stealing works just fine."

The Sniper shook his head in disgust, "You're a right wicked bastard."

"Indeed. Aren't you glad I'm on your side?" The Spy chimed as he removed a cigarette from his suit pocket, "And it's not as though that fact is going to stop you from accepting your reward. However, to the point: how goes our little deal?"

"Well enough, I reckon," The Sniper shrugged.

"Well enough?" The Spy repeated the Sniper's words as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

The Sniper sighed, "I know nothing more than that she enjoys setting fire to things, she's a tad older than my niece and that she thinks me a simpleton."

"You've learned nothing new, then," The Spy snorted and the Sniper, who caught the Spy's jab, glared indignantly. The Sniper shut gun locker, knowing any work he had intended to do was lost. He turned to exit the weapons depot and the Spy quickly followed.

"And where are we going?" The Spy called.

"To the kitchen. If I have to spend time with you I want a drink," The Sniper grumbled, but the Spy merely chuckled at his unhappy tone.

"So you have discussed your families… Tell me, how does this help me?" The Spy asked as they made their way back to the kitchen.

"I am building a foundation of trust," The Sniper muttered an exasperated response, "Trust is important to getting information, you know that."

"Of course, I specialize in exploiting trust," The Spy answered as he peered through the doorway into the kitchen, checking for signs of other team members. With the kitchen clear, the duo entered the kitchen and the Sniper made his way to the fridge.

"Then why I am doing your job?" The Sniper growled as he removed two bottles of beer from the fridge, "What would you do, then? If you're going to be critical of my methods then you best give me some new ideas."

"You're doing my job because you are in a convenient position to do so. And my apologies, amigo, I never meant to disregard your ways," The Spy raised a hand in apology, though the Sniper seemed unconvinced, "You do whatever you think is necessary. Do remember that this is war, even if it is on an embarrassingly small scale."

"You mean torture," The Sniper said, easily deciphering the Spy's less than hidden emphasis. He handed the Spy one of the beers he had selected from the fridge as he said, "Torture is a complicated business. If you want to give it a shot then get the Doc to help you, I'm no good at it."

"Perhaps we will consider that a back up plan, si? For now I suppose I will let you do as you see fit, if you really think your talks are the best way to get us what we need," The Spy took a drink from his beer and grimaced, "This swill is rotten."

"Yeah, well, that's beer for you," The Sniper noted, "And I never said it was best. I just imagine she's the type who will not speak under less than savory methods."

"Oh?" The Spy cocked his head, "Why so?"

"Because, through my methods, I've discovered that she's a monster. You know our own Pyrotechnician well enough. She's no different from him. Savage, dangerous," The Sniper paused, letting his words sink in, "And, sometimes, it's easier to tame the beast so you can slay it."

"Well aren't you the theorist," The Spy chuckled and gave the Sniper an appraising look, "I do believe I've underestimated you. Ever considered my career choice for yourself, amigo?"

"If our scheme works then the only thing I'll be considering is how to keep the dingoes away from my cattle, mate," The Sniper smiled happily at the thought, but sharply added, "Besides, I'm not a coward. I could never do what you do."

"Ooh no," The Spy sneered, "Sitting in your eagle's nest, picking off good foot soldiers is the epitome of courage, my friend."

The Sniper glared and leaned down to snarl at the Spy, "Think'n it's wise to pick a fight with the man doing your dirty work?"

"Perhaps not," The Spy glanced at the Sniper in mock concern, "Shall we save our disagreements for a more appropriate time? After we're filthy rich, lets say?"

"I'll hold you to that," The Sniper muttered as he turned to leave, wanting to return to his previous chore of improving his rifle. However, as he was crossing the threshold to the kitchen, the Sniper stopped as a sweet aroma wafted into the kitchen.

"Who's cook'n?" The Sniper asked as he inhaled the pleasant scent.

"No se," The Spy shrugged, "Shall we investigate?"

The Sniper glared, still irritated with the Spy's very presence, but nodded in agreement. The men made their way down the winding staircase that lead to the base's main courtyard.

Down on the main floor of the courtyard was the Scout. He was hunched over, with the Soldier's shovel in hand, drawing lines into the hay strewn dirt floor. The Medic sat at the base of the stairs, a few feet away from the Scout, quietly reading a book. At the far end of the courtyard was the Engineer and a very large barbeque with a pillar of thick, sweet smoke pouring from it.

"Howdy!" The Engineer waved, "You boys want steak, pork or chicken?"

The Sniper sauntered to the Engineer's side and glanced into the metal contraption, "Steak. And what's the occasion?"

"Figured we'd be need'n something to do. Been so quiet around here the boys are get'n restless. Thought some good ol' barbeque would make for a mighty fine afternoon," The Engineer explained as he poked one particular piece of meat before flipping it.

"I wanna know why it's so frigg'n boring 'round here! Them BLU suckas scared of us or something?" The Scout called as he finished his ground work.

"As I've said before, they do not vant to risk their comrade's life by attacking our base," The Medic responded as he shut his book with a loud snap.

"So what? They should just come and get her! I'm bored outta my skull and it's been awhile since I've batted one in, for that matter," The Scout began to swing the Soldier's shovel, testing the weight of his new bludgeoning device.

"Similar issue," The Medic shrugged, "They do not know vhere ve are keeping her vithin the base. Vhy risk the safety of the entire team for one captive vhen there's a chance you vill kill her vhile attempting to save her?"

"Frigg'n know-it-all," The Scout grumbled, "Hey Doc, come put that noggin of yours to use and play catcher."

"No," The Medic snorted, "And vhat is a 'catcher'?"

"Oh man!" The Scout barked triumphantly, "Doc doesn't know baseball? Awh man, this is gunna be sweet!"

"We're short a few, wouldn't you say?" The Engineer asked as he closed the lid to the massive barbeque. As he shut the lid, the Heavy appeared behind him, sniffing the air as though he were a well-trained hunting dog.

"Smells good!" The Heavy roared, "Engineer can cook?"

"Son, I'm from Texas," The Engineer tipped his hard hat, "Ask'n if I cook is like asking if light always propagates through a vacuum at a set velocity."

The Heavy looked dumbfounded, as did the Sniper, and the Engineer sighed in resignation.

"Yeah yeah, you like math," The Scout waved off the Engineer's words, "Hey, big man, wanna play catcher?"

"Catcher?" The Heavy trundled down the staircase and stepped to the Scout's side, "What is 'catcher'?

"Oh my God," The Scout was appalled and outraged, "None of you foreigners have played baseball before?"

"I played Cricket from time to time," The Sniper offered.

The Scout scoffed loudly, "That don't count. That ain't real baseball."

The Sniper shrugged and took a seat at the top of the staircase. The Scout continued to gaze around at his teammates with a look of frustrated shock plastered on his face.

"No one?" The Scout shouted, "Fine! Time for me to educate you boys! Where's everyone else? I only wanna do this once!"

"Soldier is on guard duty," The Spy pointed over his shoulder towards the battlements, "As for our most destructive duo, I haven't a clue."

"Demo and Pyro were putting rum and cloth into glass bottles down stairs," The Heavy boomed, pointing towards the sewers, "I go get them?"

"Mein gott, yes, before they kill us all!" The Medic shouted, jumping to his feet and throwing his book to the floor.

The Heavy bellowed with laughter and began his trek to the sewers. The Medic made a move to follow, but the Scout jumped in his path, "No no man. You're staying here and learning to pitch before the boys get back."

"Vhat? No. Get the Engineer to play your silly ball game with you," The Medic brushed the Scout aside, only to have the young man cling to his coat tails.

"Come on, Doc! He's cooking, Sniper hasn't got a clue what a real sport is and our Spanish fly has a bad arm!" The Scout was very nearly whining in protest.

"Fine!" The Medic growled in defeat and held out his hand, "Give me your bat."

"No, Doc, you're pitching. You get this," The Scout placed a brown, tattered baseball into the Medic's hand, "You're going to throw this right over this spot and into the big man's hands. You're going to want to throw it as hard as you can so I can't hit it. Think you got that?"

"Oh I imagine I do," The Medic grumbled, "Silly, pointless American sport."

"That's the spirit!" The Scout gave the Medic a friendly punch to the shoulder as the Heavy returned with the Demoman and Pyro.

"You, Sparky, you play baseball?" The Scout shouted to the Pyro.

"Mph!" The Pyro nodded enthusiastically.

The Demoman looked around the courtyard as he took a swig from his ever present whiskey bottle and slurred, "Wha'sat we doin' mate? Game o' Cricket?"

The Scout pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration as he groaned, "You can sit with the Sniper."

"S'fine with me, boyo, you dun want me a'swinging anything in me condition anyway!" The Demoman laughed as he staggered past the Scout to join the Sniper on the staircase.

"Alright, alright! Sparks can bat after me. Big man's got catcher and the Doc is pitching," The Scout pointed each to player as he spoke.

"Where I go?" The Heavy asked as he glanced about the courtyard.

"Behind me, right… no, here," The Scout turned the giant man towards the makeshift baseball diamond, "Now kneel down so you can catch the ball."

The Heavy obeyed and held his hands up, "Ready!"

The Scout gave a few practice swings with his bat before placing his foot on the 'X' that marked his home plate, "Alright, Doc, just like I told you! I'll even go easy on you for a while!"

"Vhy you're too kind," The Medic bowed as he stepped to the small pile of dirt that represented the pitcher's mound.

Up on the second level of the courtyard the Engineer let out a quiet chuckle, drawing the Sniper's attention, "What's so funny, mate?"

"Just watch," The Engineer had a wide, Cheshire cat grin plastered on his face as he pointed to the tiny baseball team beneath them.

The Medic rotated the baseball in his hand, lining his fingers along the proper seams. He shrugged his broad shoulder, loosening the muscles and stretching his arms. There was a wicked look on his face as he drew his shoulder back and, with surprising elegance, pitched the ball towards the Scout. The baseball soared, at a harrowing speed, towards the plate and the shocked batter. With a loud, echoing crack the baseball slammed into the Scout's temple. The Scout staggered, reeling from the blow. He blinked furiously, attempting to clear his skewed vision. Behind the Scout, the Heavy was shaking with silent laughter.

"Opps, sorry my dear boy," The Medic adjusted his gloves in a nonchalant gesture, "Slipped out of my hand. I'll try again, ja?"

"Uh…Uh yeah…Yeah," The Scout staggered back up to the plate as the Heavy tossed the baseball back to the Medic, "Be…beginner's mistake. You see, I'd usually take the base."

The Scout raised his bat again, though any onlooker would see that he was severely unbalanced and grimacing in pain or fear.

The Medic performed his same mannerisms, stretching and relaxing his muscles. Again, hurled the play straight down the plate with immense force.

In the second it took for the ball to reach the home plate, the Scout had winced in a horrible realization: the Medic knew how to play baseball. Far too late to dodge, the Scout caught the baseball with the side of his head once more, on the same spot the Medic had previously struck.

The Scout staggered again before he could focus his dilated eyes on the Medic. He pointed a wavering finger and slurred, "Yousonuva…"

And the Scout fell, in an unconscious heap, on the makeshift home plate. There was a moment of silence before the Heavy yelled, "Take base! Ha!"

The explosion of laughter that followed was deafening. The Engineer was wiping away tears of laugher as the Spy snorted with amusement. The Demoman roared with laughter and knocked his bottle of whiskey against the Sniper's beer bottle, "Aye I'll drink to that, mates!"

The Pyro, who came up to the Scout's unconscious body to pick up the metal bat, was shuddering with muffled laughter, "Hrhrhrhr!"

The Medic composed himself long enough to gesture to the Heavy, "Lay him on that haystack over there, ja? I'll take care of him vhen he vakes up."

The Heavy, who was roaring with amusement, nodded and stooped down to pick up the Scout. He carried the smaller man to a haystack in the corner of the courtyard and gently placed him in the hay, chuckling gleefully as he did so.

The Medic continued to snigger as he climbed the staircase to join the rest of the team. He selected a spot beside the Sniper, who was shaking his head in revolted amusement, "I've a feel'n you're no novice?"

"The American soldiers that took me in after my city vas bombed taught me how to play. Vhen ve vere not vorking ve played baseball. I alvays played pitcher," The Medic explained through his laughter.

The Sniper looked up to the Engineer, "And you knew?"

"Saw him catch and throw a pipe bomb before it could detonate near us one time. Made him tell me where he got his skills after that," The Engineer answered as he began to place several cuts of meat on serving plates.

The Sniper laughed and shook his head, "You're a cruel man, Doc... Oye, Truckie, since Sleepy down there won't be eating for a bit, can I take his serving? Need to feed the filly."

"Sure thing. His piece was a bit to well done for my like'n anyway, " The Engineer shrugged and placed a very well done steak onto a plate for the Sniper, "Oh, and your apples are in a burlap sack on the kitchen table. They ain't much, there were slim pickin's in town, but I think you'll like 'em."

"Much obliged, mate," The Sniper tipped his hat with his free hand before gathering up his own plate of steak.

As the others descended on the Engineer to grab their share of food, the Sniper strolled back to the kitchen. He snatched up the burlap sack and reached inside to investigate the apples. The were small and warm from being in the thick bag, but they were ripe and, after taking a bite from one, the Sniper concluded they were fresh.

The Sniper had finished his apple as he reached the bowels of the fort. He slung the burlap sack over his shoulder and balanced the plate of steak carefully as he opened the cell door.

The Pyro was sprawled on her back with a newspaper held in front of her face. She glanced up when he entered and gave him a polite, "Hello."

"Our chef was feeling generous today," The Sniper said cheerily as he held out the bag of apples.

She set aside her newspaper, rose to her feet and took her plate of meat and bag from the Sniper. When she opened the bag to investigate the contents she lit up the dreary room. He had never seen her smile so brightly. It was unsettling.

She didn't even sit down before she began to tear into one of the apples. The Sniper slumped down in his usual corner and began to pull his steak into smaller pieces.

"These are amazing," The Pyro joyously said between bites, "Do you know how long it has been since I had an apple?"

"Months?" The Sniper offered.

Most of their interactions had become like this. Their conversations were relaxed, though she never offered information that was vital for him. She answered questions as though she were fully aware that he wanted enemy secrets. Enough to satisfy the question, but never in detail. But if she was indeed on to his game, she hid it well.

"At least," She answered, " Maybe even a year... Has it been so long? It seems like I was home just yesterday."

"Where's home?" The Sniper asked, genuinely interested. Her voice was always crisp, proper and articulate, but he had never had any talent for placing American accents.

"A plantation on the east coast," She replied, leaving specifics out of her response as she always did, " "We had about fifty apple trees. More than my family could ever eat."

"A plantation? Never woulda' pegged you as a country girl," The Sniper mused.

"I'm not, really. The plantation was more of a status symbol then an actual working farm," The Pyro waved her hand, dismissing his assumption.

"Status symbol, eh?" The Sniper raised a brow.

"Not mine. My family's... Or, rather, my predecessors. My great grand father built the place, my father just inherited it. As did his father," She shrugged as if uncomfortable with the subject.

"You're old money," The Sniper jabbed lightly, grinning as he called her out.

The Pryo scowled, "I suppose."

"Railways?" The Sniper guessed.

"Oil," The Pyro corrected.

"Ah," The Sniper chuckled, "You're in the family business, then?"

"Not...exactly. I doubt my father would approve of how his product is being used in this particular setting, but," She gave him menacing smile, "That's why he doesn't know what I do."

"How independent of you," The Sniper muttered, "But why give up the luxury?"

The Pyro scoffed, "My siblings enjoy the luxury enough for the whole extended family."

"You have siblings?" The Sniper couldn't help but smile at this revelation.

"Five. Three sisters and two brothers, all older than me," She nodded and a gentler smile than she had previously worn crept onto her face, "You mentioned you have a niece. You must have siblings?"

"Younger brother and sister," The Sniper smiled as well, "The niece is my sister's... Though I got a letter a few months back sayin' my brother and his missus were expecting."

"Really?" The Pyro smiled brightly.

The Sniper returned her grin as he nodded. They continued eating their food in silence, but the Pyro paused and caught his gaze again, "Well, don't stop there. Tell me about them."

The Sniper, amused, raised a brow once more, "My family?"

Though her mouth was filled with apple, the Pyro nodded enthusiastically.

"Well... I'm the oldest. my brother is the middle child and sister is the youngest. She met a bloke when she was seventeen and married him right off. Swell fellow, so mum and dad didn't mind much," He glanced at the Pyro to see if she was genuinely interested. She was digging into the bag for a second apple, but she was still watching him and listening intently.

"She had my niece a year later. Pretty little girl, and a charmer to boot. Used to take her out in the bush and track rabbits for her. To watch, o' course, never to eat," he chuckled, "She wants to be a school teacher. Or at least she did when she was fifteen. Kids, you know, always changing their minds."

The Pyro was smiling serenely, her legs crossed comfortable beneath her body. She set aside the over cooked steak he had brought her, obviously more interested in the apples, "She sounds lovely. And your brother's wife is expecting?"

"So the letter said. That was six months ago though. For all I know the little ankle bitter has already been born," He laughed softly at the thought.

The Pyro matched his soft chuckle with one of her own, "I bet your parents love their grand children."

"Oh, blimey, to pieces. My old man even got my niece a pony for her sixth birthday," His chuckle rose to a full laughter as he recanted the story, "You shoulda seen the look on her little face! I thought she'd bounce right off the planet, I did... And I taught her how to ride. I used to tame brumbies with my old man before I joined the army."

"That's when you became a sniper?" The Pyro cocked her head.

"Yeah. Mum and Dad were none too pleased with my career choice. They'da preferred I stay on the ranch with them," The Sniper sighed, lost in the memory for a quick moment, "Anyway, that's my kin. Not too much excitement, but they are a good family."

The Pyro nodded in agreement, "They sound wonderful. I'll admit, I'm jealous."

"Jealous? Why? From the sounds o' things you're American royalty... Which makes me wonder why yer here," He truly was curious now.

"Money isn't everything," She said as she set aside her apple cores and plate of untouched steak.

"Beats kill'n fer a live'n," He remarked.

"It doesn't make a family, though," She saw the look on his face, and shook her head, "Oh, no, they love me. I love them. We just have different ideas of how to live our lives."

"Like?"

"They wanted another daughter who would marry for status, like my sisters. I just could not do it. What a dreary existence. Marrying and socializing only for power and money," She grimaced at the thought.

"Wouldn't know. Never had much of either," The Sniper noted.

"You're not missing anything. Believe me, it's much better to forge your on path in life," She smirked.

He chuckled, nodded as he rose to his feet, "I'll agree with you on that. Well, I best be on my way. I'll bring you some more fruit tomorrow."

She rose as well, "I'd love that...Oh, and promise me you'll tell me when you know if you have a new niece or nephew."

"O'course," He answered without looking back.

Something was different as he turned to leave the cell. For a short time, she had ceased to be his enemy. It was pleasant, he admitted to himself, to have a new person to speak to. One who seemed keen on listening to stories of the family he so dearly missed. One he could let his guard down with...

And in that exact moment he realized his mistake. In that same instant, he felt a rush of air and felt his machete being yanked from its holster on his hip.

He cursed his stupidity, then. Cursed himself as he turned to the young Pyro and was greeted with a victorious smile, as well as his own knife being held to his throat.

* * *

A/N: Holy sweet God! Where did the time go? I bet you all hate me for disappearing! If it counts for anything, I got married. Is that an acceptable excuse?

Nah, I didn't think so, lol!

Any who, I'm back after... Three years? (Jeez!) You can thank 'Meet the Medic' for that. Wasn't it amazing? Loved it! That said, let me address some things.

This isn't beta'd. I'm very sorry. I've reviewed it for misspellings, grammar, etc, but you know how your words look after you've gone over them a ton of times. I'll try to wrangle my husband into a proof read or two next time.

Yes, I'm aware the Spy is French. My BLU Spy is French, but the RED is Spanish. Why? Because I liked both of those possibilities when I started out and didn't want to choose between the two, so I used them both. I'm just going to keep them as is out of emotional attachment (it also gives me the chance to use the term 'Spanish flea' at some point in the future). As a side note: wasn't 'Meet the Spy' awesome too? Valve is amazing!

As for the overall story... TF2 has changed so. damn. much. I honestly haven't kept up with it all. I would like to think that my characterizations have been pretty solid through those changes, but since I haven't played in ages, that could be very wrong. I honestly don't know. Please feel free to fill me in with your reviews!

The only request I can make is that this story be read under the assumption that no updates ever occurred. We're talking 2007 TF2 game play. If this ruins the story, I truly apologize. If the story is no longer fun for you I won't hold it against you if you drop the story!

For those of you still here: THANK YOU! I can't tell you how much that means to me! I try to drop a 'thank you' message to everyone who reviews, but since I've been gone so long I know I've missed some of you. If you feel inclined to review again, I'll be sure you receive a message of 'thanks'!

I think that's all for now. I PROMISE I won't disappear for three years this time! (You know, maybe. Weirder things have happened to me!)

Thank you everyone! :D

EDITED 9/17/2012


	5. Cleopatra

**WARNING: This is where the story begins to earn its M rating. If you are underage or simply not interested in sexual situations, now would be the time to stop.**

Disclaimer: Do not own. No money being made. A/N's available at the end. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Five: Cleopatra

He felt her rush towards him at an unnatural speed. The Pyro yanked the machete from the sheath on the Sniper's hip. He turned, ready to counter her attack, try to retrieve his knife, but he was too late. The Pyro had a wild look in her eyes as she pointed the kukri at its master.

"Such a gentle, trusting killer, aren't you?," Her voice and face were triumphant as she pressed the blade firmly against his throat, "You never should have turned your back on me."

"You don't say..." The Sniper grumbled. He was furious with himself for doing exactly what he was never supposed to do: give a damn. He was furious with her for being clever enough to lull him into a false sense of security. He wondered who had been playing who all along.

"Shut up. I don't need you to talk, only listen," Her voice was dripping with malice, "You are going to unlock the door and disable the sentry I hear perched outside this cell. You will then walk me out of this fortress. One step out of line and I will be tossing your severed head at your teammates before they kill me."

The Sniper stood perfectly still, even as the blade pressed into the tender flesh of his neck, he refused to move. Something about her plan was strange, uncoordinated. It struck him as odd, and it made him pause to consider an idea of his own.

"Lets make this quick," The Pyro snarled, "Move."

The Sniper slowly shook his head, "Your plan doesn't make any sense, sheila."

"I didn't ask for your opinion." She growled, "Open the goddamn door!"

"Why not just kill me?" The Sniper cocked his head, genuinely curious as to why she didn't take the easy route.

"Would you like me to? I'd be happy to oblige," She deepened the pressure she was placing on the machete, which caused small beads of blood to form along the skin it touched.

The Sniper just shrugged, acting terribly calm for a man with his own weapon nicking the skin on his throat, "I don't want to die, I'm just confused. Were I you, I would kill me here, take my clothes so I could sneak past the sentry and take the back hallways to the sewers.. Doesn't that plan make more sense?"

The Pyro's eyes narrowed as she gave his suggestion thought. Though her plan to dull his awareness had been her main focus, her attack had obviously been spur of the moment. She was bright, that much was certain, but she had not handled captivity well. She had given the escape itself very little thought. She was a planner, but only to a certain degree. She was used to surprising her victims, used to gaining the element of surprise and then unleashing chaos in the form of hellfire. Without her beloved chaos she was weak.

The Sniper couldn't help but smirk as he added an after thought, "''Sides... I don't think you really want to kill me."

Whether she meant to or not, the Pyro released just a feather's worth of pressure from his neck. It was the type of hesitation he had hoped she would show. One the Sniper's arm shot out, seized the Pyro's armed hand as he simultaneously pushed her body away from his.

He had underestimated just how strong she was; feeding her was a mistake. The Pyro twisted her arm, wrenched her hand free from the Sniper's grasp and staggered backward. When they made eye contact again, the Sniper found himself staring into the eyes of a demon. The Pyro was dangerously quiet, and then she was charging him again. She swung his machete down with her first step forward, up with the second step she took. The Sniper barely managed to turn away as his own blade sliced passed him and clanged loudly on the concrete wall of the cell. Sparks flew from the weapon as it collided with the wall.

"If you break that you'll be buyin' me a new one," The Sniper muttered only somewhat sarcastically.

He barely had a moment to recover before she was lunging towards him again, wielding his machete with deadly intentions. With two hands wrapped around the hilt of the knife she swung the kukri horizontally, aiming to tear his chest open. He backed away, his hands held chest high. Then he yelped as he felt a fleeting slice graze his palms. The Sniper gazed down at his hands, only to find a razor-thin cut running along the middle of his leather gloves. His hands, however, were unscathed.

He chuckled and held up his uninjured hands, "A little shorter than a fire ax, isn't it love?"

Baiting her, he realized a tad too late, was not in his best interests. She charged again and roared like a lion as she swung the blade at him again, narrowly missing his neck. He had been so busy minding the razor sharp weapon that he never saw her fist follow the blade. She landed a blow directly on his cheekbone, causing stars to explode in his vision.

"Bloody hell, woman!" He shouted for no particular reason (she was right in front of him, after all), "That hurt!"

His statement of the obvious didn't seem to slow her down, because his machete was cutting through the air once more. He ducked, almost lost his hat to his own knife as it sang across the stone wall and sparks erupted from the blade's edge a second time.

She was off balance after her wide swing and he lunged for her, managed to take hold of the arm that held his knife. He threw his weight against her and shoved her across the tiny cell. He slammed her arm against the stone wall, tried to loosen her grip on his weapon. She cried out in pain, but her grip didn't break. Her free arm, and both of her legs, immediately began to pummel his torso with gale force blows. If he kept only one arm under control she would beat him to a bloody pulp with her remaining appendages. If he let go of her arm she would run him through with his own knife. He hated conundrums.

Risking losing his grip on her arm, he freed one of his hands and attempted to pin down her other arm. The arm that held his machete began to push out of his grasp, shoving against him with adrenaline fueled strength. He reached for the closest, unguarded piece of flesh that wasn't beating him senseless and within his grasp: her neck.

The Sniper's hand clamped down on the Pyro's wind pipe like a bear trap. The Pyro gave a small 'eep!' as her air supply came to an abrupt end. A look of complete horror crossed her beautiful, ferocious features. She somehow pushed beyond her fear and continued to struggle.

"Stop fighting, damn it," The Sniper growled through winded breaths, "Drop my knife and I'll let you go."

She refused by attempting to buck him off of her, but to no avail. Her neck was slick with sweat, and the Sniper's fingers slid along her skin as his grip sought purchase.

"Drop my knife," The Sniper's voice was almost gentle as he leaned his body into hers, trying to gain leverage over the situation. Her eyes narrowed in continued refusal, but her struggles became weaker with each passing second.

The Sniper, thinking of his new found duty and his pride as an assassin, muttered, "Don't make me kill you. Not like this, sheila."

Her lips were as pale as the rest of her face, and her struggles became twitchy, jerking motions that could hardly be classified as threatening. Somehow, her fierce gaze stayed on his, and the hand that held his kukri never wavered.

Cursing his lack of conviction, the Sniper released the pressure on her wind pipe. His hand remained splayed out on her neck in case she attempted to fight again.

The Pyro gasped for air, wheezed and coughed heavily when he allowed her to breathe again. Her skin flushed with the rush of fresh oxygen and she steadied her gasps into deep, slow breaths. The Sniper's hand was still pressed lightly against her throat, his fingers unconsciously sliding along her sweat dampened skin.

Something in the room turned, then, as his fingers strayed up her neck to caress her jaw line. The air seemed to snap with a change of energy. Energy that was far more dangerous than any crazed, knife wielding woman hell bent on killing him.

When he looked to her face, he was surprised to see that her eyes were closed. She tilted her head up and into his hand as his fingers continued to slide along the edge of her face. For someone with a psychotic need to burn and maim, she really was quite beautiful. His hand slid down her cheek to none to gently grasp her chin as his thumb dragged slowly along her bottom lip.

Her eyes opened then and, to his supreme shock, her eyes were dark with lust. He was so caught up in her seductive gaze that he almost missed the sensation of her lips kissing his thumb. She was gently nibbling the tip of his thumb when he felt her free hand, the one he did not have pinned to the wall of the cell, grab hold of his belt buckle and tug him against her body.

"What the hell are we doing?" The Sniper muttered in a hoarse, almost pained whisper just before her lips descended on his neck.

The Pyro's lips were incredibly soft, he noted somewhere in the back of his mind, as she placed quick, random kisses along the side of his neck. Her lips found the spot that she had cut with his machete, and she slowly, agonizingly ran her tongue along the cut. He hissed quietly at the stinging sensation she caused.

She kissed her way up his neck, stopped to playfully nip his ear and whisper, "Let me go."

"Drop my knife," He muttered back, doing to his damnedest to sound professional while a beautiful woman was hanging on him.

He was beyond surprised when he heard his machete clatter to the floor. He remained a man of his word and released her arm. A very tiny voice in his mind warned him that he may well have signed his own death warrant, but he could hardly be bothered by that little voice today.

Both of the Pyro's gloved hands reached for his shirt, vigorously un-tucked it from his pants. She began to unbutton his red over shirt, only to stop halfway up his torso before she moved back down to unhook his belt.

The Sniper had been staring, blankly, watching her hands work when he realized he could have made himself more useful. He reached towards her neck again, tangled his arms up with hers in the process, and grabbed hold of the zipper on the front of her fire-proof suit. He pulled the zipper down as quickly as he could while trying to avoid tangling their arms a second time. The zipper came to an end around her waist and his hands shot up once more, shoving the thick suit off of her shoulders.

She shrugged the heavy suit off, expertly stepping out of the heavy material as she had undoubtedly done countless times. Beneath the heavy fire-proof suit she wore a soft, flimsy cotton body suit. Protection, he imagined, from the rough fabric of the flame retardant gear. He grabbed a fistful of the cotton body suit, pulled her around and almost threw her to the thin mattress on the floor.

The Pyro had the sense of mind to hang on to the Sniper's belt when he pushed her to the floor, and she pulled him down, caused him to land on top of her. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, kept him pressed against her as she began to unbutton her protective cotton suit. His hands joined hers, more than happy to help her free herself from the last bit of clothing she wore.

When she shrugged the cotton suit from her shoulders, the Sniper was vaguely surprised at the pale skin beneath it. He knew he shouldn't have been, for most of a pyrotechnician's time was spent covered from head to toe in thick gear, but her milky skin was still fascinating. He grabbed hold of the pale blue cotton suit and tugged it from her torso, off of her wide hips and down her long legs. He tossed the suit aside and shamelessly gazed at the naked woman beneath him.

She was gorgeous. Her shoulders and arms were wider, more muscled than most women he had seen. But she carried a heavy flamethrower and oxygen tanks around during fast paced, nerve racking combat. Combat, also, attributed to the occasional scar that marred her porcelain skin. A couple of grazing bullet wounds had healed along her arms, he noted, and one particular scar along her rib cage looked like an old knife gash. His gaze went lower, savored the way her thin waist tapered out to wide hips and long legs.

There was a particularly looking painful scar on her left hip and thigh. It was large, blotchy and it spread out in variously sized droplet formations from the top of her knee to her hip bone. Burning liquid, he realized, had splattered on her at one point or another. Had it been oil? Gasoline? Plain boiling water? He wasn't certain and he didn't dare ask.

He was taking too long for her, he realized, as she grabbed his shirt and pulled herself up to him. Her lips were on his neck again; nipping, biting and kissing the sensitive flesh she found. Her hands were on the edge of his waist, then, and she shoved his pants down his hips. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pressed herself against him.

He could hardly say no. He dipped his head down, kissed the small valley between her breasts as he entered her. She felt so divine that he had to pause, had to clear his mind of the thought that she was the first woman he had seen, let alone been with, in some time. Something else nagged him essentially, something dire, but he was already lost in the sensations the beautiful woman beneath him was creating.

She let out a low, sensuous moan as he began to move. Her hands reached for his hips and her nails dug into his flesh when she took hold of him. She was urging him on, pulling him deeper. She arched her back and drove her hips towards his, begging him for more without saying a word. She looked liked a fiery siren writhing beneath him, crying out when he moved just the way she wanted. He repeated every movement that elicited a cry of pleasure from her, so much so that he had to cover her mouth when her moans became too loud. It was a gesture that only seemed to bring her more pleasure, and she moved with even more vigor beneath him.

Her gyrations became too much and, much to his disappointment, it was over far too soon. He stifled a low, primal moan into her neck as he climaxed. He had wanted to keep her whimpering and moaning beneath him until the end of the world, but he was only human.

He sat up, a difficult task to do with her legs wrapped possessively around his hips, and lifted his hand from her mouth. She lay panting beneath him, her chest rising and falling as she regained her breath. Her hands moved from his hips to his shoulders, her nails scratching down the length of his arms and coming to rest on his gloved hands. She fixed him with a luscious, hooded gaze and sat up in his arms. She lazily kissed the side of his neck as her fingers played with the collar of his shirt. His red shirt.

The quiet, nagging voice that had been but a whisper in the back of his mind moments earlier became a deafening roar. She was the enemy. She was the enemy and she was naked. Naked, covered in sweat and straddling his hips. The realization of what they had just done, what he had just done, and the realization that the very thing they had done was treason came over him like a flood of icy water.

She seemed to realize she had just bedded the enemy the very moment he did, because a small gasp on shock escaped her throat. She slowly, pointedly, released his shirt collar from her fingers. The air in the room became thick and heavy with anxiety when they made eye contact.

They simultaneously jumped away from one another, which caused both of them to give a small cry of pain. The Sniper fell back on his heels, stared at the BLU Pyro like she was an unstable nuclear bomb. She returned his stare with similar emotions spreading across her face. She suddenly leapt forward, snatched up her previously discarded cotton body suit and covered herself with it.

The Sniper struggled to his feet, tucking in his shirt and buckling his pants as he rose. He turned back and snatched his almost forgotten kukri from its spot on the floor. He placed his back against the wall as he clumsily slid his machete back into its holster.

He looked down at the BLU Pyro, who sat motionless on the mattress, and tried to speak, "I..."

He had no words. What could he say? He had just crossed an unspeakably dangerous boundary, one that would mean a death sentence for both of them. Not that it mattered much for her, he thought, because she was as good as dead at the end of the month.

A pang of guilt struck him in the chest as he realized there was more to their affair than just treason. He had broken his own personal codes of conduct, had thrown aside everything he had ever practiced since he began killing for money. Even with that on his mind, there was a dark, sensual thread of though spreading through his thoughts: he had loved every second with her.

What had this woman just done to him?

He had no words for her, so he strode, as quickly as he could without running, past the motionless Pyro, exited the cell and slammed the door behind him. He remained still for an instant, the all too fresh memories of what had just transpired running through his mind, before he began to sprint down the corridor.

* * *

A/N: Why, did I just update again? In the same year? Shocking, I know! Any who, let's get down to some business.

So I took some time to play TF2 and catch up on the updates. Quite a bit of playing, actually, and after playing the updated TF2 I've had to make small changes. Maybe they're noticeable, maybe not. They may only be to me because I had most of this story physically written out but switched a bunch of things up when I was typing it up to accommodate the updates.

My biggest issue is changing up some character behaviors. The Sniper needed the most updating. He went from being rather quiet to talking quite a bit of smack to his opponents (and his own teammates if you're on a Payload map). I loved it, however, it changed my perception of the character just a bit. I've tried to rebuild around it and incorporate this, but I'm also trying to keep the original character I wrote alive. We'll see if I'm capable of playing that little balancing act.

I've had a few people ask me if this needs to be classified as a romance story. After this chapter you can probably imagine why I've decided NOT to label it as such. Beating the living shit out of each other in a fight that lead to some awkward sex isn't exactly romantic... If anything, it's going to complicate our dear protagonist's lives from here on out.

While on the subject of sex: yes, there will be more of it. If you didn't want to see any, I'm terribly sorry, but it was in the works all along. Hopefully it was obvious it was coming and those who weren't interested could step away. In my mind sex is a powerful catalyst for my main characters. I won't lie, it's also kind of fun to write. Particularly because I don't see it as all that romantic in this setting and that makes it more challenging. I don't know about any of you, but I've never gone from having a knock down, drag out fight with someone to screwing them madly on the floor. Maybe I'm missing out on something in life, though? :P

I had someone PM me and ask me how old the BLU Pyro is: she's thirty-one. Not too young, not too old. There's no special reason for it, it's just the age I had imagined.

I believe that's it for now! As usual: questions, comments, suggestions, critiques and the like are always welcomed. Loved, in fact. Begged for, even! Particularly now that the rating has gone up and the content has changed. I will also do my best to respond to those who review. I know I've missed some of you (again!), but I'll do my best to respond to you all.

Until next time: much love, everyone!

EDITED 9/17/2012


	6. Addiction

Disclaimer: Do not own. No money being made. A/N's available at the end. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Six: Addiction

The Sniper was not prone to panic. He was a calm man with often sedated emotions. Even in the heat of a fire fight, he was known for keeping his calm. Only in the tightest of circumstances was he known to lose his temper and, even then, he was only known for his vicious shouts promising pain and vengeance. Knowing this about himself, the Sniper was surprised to find himself pacing, nervously, through the upper levels of the base.

He had sprinted from the make shift prison cell at first, his long legs carrying him up the stairs three at a time. When he found himself far from the cell he had slowed, regained his breath, forced himself to slow his sprint to a walk. He was pacing the hall of the barracks, the sleeping quarters of the RED team, and trying to decipher just how dangerous this new situation was going to be for himself.

He had committed treason, there was no denying that, no way to call it anything less damning. He knew the bases of both teams were wired with microphones, cameras and God only knew what else. Had his actions already been reported to the RED team's superiors? Was it only a matter of minutes before unnamed agents swooped in, dragged him away and made him disappear?

However, as the moments ticked by with no masked men descending on him, the Sniper began to suspect that his superiors knew nothing of his actions. Or, if they did, they simply did not care. Perhaps, somewhere, an unnamed corporate bastard was laughing softly to himself, amused at his employee's situation. Whatever the truth may be, neither option gave the Sniper much peace of mind.

He had been trying to gain her trust, and he was certain he had succeeded. These new circumstances, however, made his certainty self destruct. For all he knew, she had played him with cheery stories of a fake family, had managed to weasel her way into his mind and get him to trust her as he had wanted her to do for him. Then she had seduced him... But if she had seduced him to get him to lower his guard, she surely would have killed him. Wouldn't she? Or had her actions been spur of the moment, unplanned and ill-advised just like her escape attempt?

The Sniper removed his hat, ran his hands through his short, sweaty hair. Tried to shake the seductive, haunting image of the beautiful woman writhing beneath him. It was a difficult image to forget... if he even wanted to forget it. No, he would. Had to. He would go on, just as before, with no one the wiser of his mistake.

The Sniper slipped into his sleeping quarters, a room almost as small and as spartan as the prison cell he had just visited. He grabbed a clean uniform from the short locker that sat in the corner of the tiny room. He needed a shower, needed to wash the scent of sweat and sex from his body. Perhaps with the evidence washed away, he would have an easier time keeping the gorgeous prisoner from his mind.

It was wishful thinking. Even as he allowed the scalding hot water rinse away his transgressions, more treacherous images crawled into his mind's eye, teasing him. The steam of the hot shower only reminded him of her pale flesh, hot and wet with desire. The beads of condensation on the shower walls were just like the droplets of sweat that had formed along her neck and slid, tantalizingly, down her chest between her breasts and down her thick torso.

"Bugger all," The Sniper cursed quietly, his fist slamming into the hard tile wall. He couldn't escape the sensual thoughts that slithered into his conscience. A part of him wondered if he even wanted to stop them.

But he was a professional, a talented assassin who never shied away from a job or a challenge. He was not a coward, not an easily controlled man. He wouldn't let this vixen play him. She may have ensnared him with her body, but he would fight her to the very end. Two could play this little game she had so unwisely started.

The Sniper left the showers a clean, determined man and worked his way through the base back to the yard where his teammates were relaxing in the afternoon sun. The RED Pyro and Demoman were having a one-on-one game of baseball, with the Pyro bunting the baseball to the Demoman. In the haystack sat a very dazed Scout, with the monstrous Heavy sitting next to him, who was cutting a steak apart for the young man. At the top of the staircase sat the Medic, who was so engulfed in his book that he barely glanced sideways as the Sniper sat down next to him.

They sat in companionable silence for ages before the curses of a drunken Scottish demolitions expert erupted in the courtyard below them.

"Yer out matey! I tagged yer arse before ya set a foot on that base!" The Demoman was shouting at the RED Pyro.

"Mph mmrph mrph! MRPH!" The Pyro was gesturing wildly between the base and the Demoman, "Mrr mprh mrrnp mr mprh!"

"'Sma turn to bat, ya great muffled dandy!" The Demoman attempted to snatch the baseball bat from the Pyro's hands. The Pyro, determined to prove his 'safe at base' refused to release his grip on the baseball bat. This began a less than mature tug of war between the men.

The Medic, who had finally glanced down at the situation unfolding beneath him, snorted and muttered, "Kinder."

The Sniper didn't turn to the Medic, didn't ask him to translate his derisive word. A fact that did not go unnoticed by the Medic.

"You seem far avay. Somezing on your mind, freund?" The Medic questioned.

"Nah mate. I'm just dandy." The Sniper answered plainly as he attempted to push his latest troubles to the back of his mind.

"I think I know vhat is troubling you so," The Medic said as he snapped his book shut and turned to his teammate.

"'Sthat so?" The Sniper almost growled, prepared to defend himself and attempt to weave a tale that would keep the Medic quiet.

"Of course. Your leg," The Medic nudged the Sniper's wounded leg with the tip of his boot, "You are bored, ja? You vant to be released so you can return to duty. You are not the type of man that enjoys these quiet days."

The Sniper felt a pang of guilt for judging his companion so quickly and gave the Medic a small smirk, "You hit the nail on the head, Doc."

"Vell then, I suppose I can clear you for duty. Your leg seems no vorse for vear," The Medic nudged the Sniper's leg, none too gently, to solidify his statement, "Though do be careful. My gun heals vell in the short-term, but I do not know the long-term effects it has on bones and ligaments."

"Wasn't planning on takin' up tap dance'n Doc. Just thought I'd throw my hat in for guard duty. Give me a change o' scenery," The Sniper explained on a whim.

"Vell I am certain the Soldier vill be pleased to here that," The Medic rose to his feet and extended a hand to the Sniper, "God knows he has been insufferable ever since he has been in charge of guard duty."

The Sniper took the Medic's hand and stood up with his offered assistance, "I think we all have been. But now I can give him a break in his schedule, eh?"

"A noble cause," The Medic chuckled, "Vhat vill be vorse? Dealing vith our guest or offering to be a stand in for our very boring vatch?"

The Sniper suppressed urge to answer defensively, and managed to mutter, "Like I said: I could use a change of scenery."

* * *

The Medic had been right: the Soldier had been all too happy to have the Sniper report back to duty. And the Sniper had been all two happy to take a handful of guard shifts from his various teammates. Guard duty was not a coveted position, even when the opposing team was willing to go on the offensive. Each shift was divided into eight long, boring hours of pacing back and forth along the deck overlooking the makeshift moat between the bases.

As boring as it was, it was still easy, quiet work. The Sniper had welcomed the silence, the chance to mull over his situation uninterrupted and come to a conclusion about how he would handle the BLU Pyro. The Sniper would wash his hands of it all, he decided, and set this new frame of mind within his conscience. If the Spy wanted his precious information, he could acquire it himself.

His subconscious, however, had other ideas.

In the three days he had been reinstated for duty, the Sniper had taken four guard shifts, two of which were back to back. On his thirtieth hour of his last shift, the Sniper began to feel his lack of sleep taking hold. He had leaned against the deck's warm, metal paneling when he felt himself falling. He jerked awake violently, glared at the metal paneling as though it were somehow at fault, and began to pace the wooden deck.

Walking kept him awake, but it was not long before he found himself resting against the warm paneling once more.

The warm metal became hot, porcelain colored flesh in his barley conscious state. He ran his gloved hand between her breasts and down the smooth muscles of her stomach. He grasped her thighs, gently pulling her hips to his own. He watched her face, then, as he thrust into her; reveled in the way she bit her lip to stifle her moan.

"Yo man, what's up?"

The Sniper's eyes snapped open and, without a pause, shouted, "Piss off!"

"Woah!" The Scout jumped, "Jeez, man, that's the last time I do somethin' nice for you!"

The Sniper blinked, focused his tired eyes on the Scout and saw, in the young man's hand, a cup of coffee.

"Awh, I'm sorry mate. Just startled me is all," The Sniper gave the Scout a reassuring slap on the shoulder, "Give it here, if ya don't mind?"

The Scout handed over the coffee without delay. As the Sniper sipped the scalding drink, the Scout reclined against the wall, "S'all right, man. Doc sent me as the errand boy anyway. He wants me to tell you 'You did not say zat you vould be on your feet for so long! Sixteen hours is a long time, even if it is just guard duty, ja? Remember vhat I told you about long-term effects!'"

The Sniper chuckled at the Scout's surprisingly accurate mimicry of the Medic, "You can tell the good Doc to stop worrying. Only way my leg is gunna give me trouble is if I fall off the deck in my sleep."

"Ha, right? Frigg'n boring up here," The Scout turned to leave, "Betcha' missing that crazy bitch down stairs, huh?"

"Not really," The Sniper shrugged and sipped his coffee, exuding unnecessary carelessness, "Glad to hand that job to someone else."

The Scout turned back, cocked his head, "What job?"

"Feeding her?" The Sniper stopped in mid sip of his coffee, "Ah, bloody hell, don't tell me no one has fed her these last few days?"

The Scout shook his head, "I don't think so, pops. You never asked any of us to do anything. Spy's always sayin' she tolerates you best and to leave her alone. 'Sides, no one cares enough to mess with her."

The Sniper pinched the bridge of his nose, attempted to rid himself of the migraine that was beginning to form.

"Hell, man, don'tcha worry. Go take care of her now and take the chance to sneak off early for some sleep. Doc was right, you've been out here awhile. See if someone else'll take your place," The Scout shrugged, "Or screw 'er. I'm sure she can go a day or two more without food."

The Sniper growled, frustrated with himself for letting such a large detail slip his mind. She would hardly starve to death in three days time, but if no one else would take over the task then she would eventually. That, at least, was the story the Sniper was telling himself.

"'Course," a dark smile spread across the Scout's face as he spoke up again, "If you're in a real jam, I can do it for ya."

The Sniper had an all too realistic vision of the RED Scout and BLU Pyro tearing each other limb from limb. The RED team couldn't afford to lose the Scout, nor could they afford to lose their high-priced captive.

"No," The Sniper muttered, "I'm on it. Get one of the boys to take over for me."

"Right'o," The Scout nodded, "And get some rest, man. You haven't been right in days."

The Sniper scoffed, "Needn't tell me that, mate."

* * *

It was the RED Pyro who agreed to take over guard duty, and he gave the Sniper a cheery "Mmmph mph!" as they passed in the hallways of the base.

"Thanks, mate, g'night to you too," The Sniper answered his teammate without breaking his quick stride.

His mind was preoccupied with the task at hand. He would simply drop her food and leave her, he decided. No questions, no interaction beyond that of a prisoner and a warden.

The sentry gun outside the cell gave him a somber, beeping welcome. Seeking any excuse to delay his entrance into the cell, the Sniper gave the sentry gun a pat as one would pet an obedient dog. For an instant, the Sniper felt the gun might bark in appreciation. To his disappointment, it merely beeped in acknowledgement of an allied presence.

Out of ideas to stall his inevitable task, the Sniper slowly unlocked the cell door and stepped into the warm cell.

To the Sniper's surprise, the BLU Pyro was awake and standing in the center of the tiny room. She had heard him, of course, and had risen to her feet to face him as he stepped inside. Her arms were at her sides, fists tightly clenched. She was without her flame retardant gear, and wore only her protective body suit. The pale blue, flimsy cotton suit hugged every curve of the Pyro's body.

The Sniper inhaled deeply, steadying himself. He knew that just beneath the thin layer of linen was the body that had haunted his psyche for days. Though painfully aroused by the mere sight of her, he was still determined to walk away.

"Here," He grunted as he held up the plate of old food he had brought for her, "Sorry. Thought someone else would feed you."

The BLU Pyro slowly stretched out her hand, and her fingertips brushed his as she took the plate from him. With his task done, the Sniper turned to leave.

The sound of the plate full of food being dropped, carelessly, onto the old mattress made him turn back. He instantly regretted his choice.

The Sniper stood stalk still as the Pyro drew closer to him. Her steps were confident, almost predatory as she approached him. She stopped when their bodies were mere inches apart, and her slim fingers began to unbutton her cotton suit.

The Sniper groaned as her suit slipped from her body to the floor; it was such a simple act, but now he knew he could not leave. Whatever resistance he had believed he had fell away at the sight of her naked body.

She was more sensual, more arousing than anything his mind had fabricated over his days away from her. Even the angry scars from her countless battles were beautiful against her ivory skin. He wanted to gaze at her, to take her in and memorize every inch of her, but she had other plans.

As he had been transfixed by her naked body, her hands had explored his. Her hands massaged the wiry muscles of his chest and arms before sliding down his torso to his groin. He groaned and tilted his head back as her nimble fingers stroked him through his pants. She demanded more of him, then, and unbuckled his belt to free him from his jeans. Her warm fingers wrapped around him and stroked, just once, from the base to tip.

And then he had to have her.

Without a thought or care, the Sniper seized the Pyro's hips and lifted her into his arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist in an instant, and he carried her to the cell's adjacent wall. With more force than may have been necessary he threw her against the wall and, swiftly, thrust himself inside her.

The Pyro gasped in surprise and pleasure at the suddenness of his actions. She closed her eyes and chuckled softly, "Now that's more like it."

He firmly grasped her thighs, certain he would leave bruises on her pale skin, and pressed her hips against the wall as he drove in and out. She was so wet, so tight around him that he felt he would lose control at any moment. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder as he continued to pump inside her.

He felt her lips against his ear and she whispered in a hoarse, lust filled voice, "Harder."

He obliged, driving himself deeper at an almost frenzied pace. She whimpered, and her nails dug through the fabric of his shirt to scrap the flesh of his shoulders.

"Don't stop!" She begged breathlessly. A rough, animalistic laugh escaped the Sniper's throat: he couldn't stop if he wanted to.

Her moans, her sweat dampened flesh and the mere scent of her finally overtook him. He gave one last thrust as he reached his climax, and remained deep inside her as he emptied himself.

He took deep, heavy breaths against her neck as he recovered from his efforts. The heat of their flesh fogged up his sunglasses as he regained his breath.

Then he was overwhelmed with exhaustion, weakened by what had transpired and his lack of rest. His arms were shaky beneath her weight and she sensed it. She unwrapped herself from him and he gently lowered her down the wall. She stepped away, laid down on the old mattress and stretched lusciously.

The Sniper fastened his pants and belt as the Pyro reclined on the mattress. She was flushed and smiling, totally satiated.

The Sniper turned, wanting to race from the cell as he had before. She was dangerous, a grievous craving and he had to be rid of her. A siren with a hellish power over him and he hated himself for his own weakness, his lack of resolve. She made him a lose all that he was, made him a traitor, and for that he hated her. Yet he knew somewhere, deep in his exhausted conscience, that he would have to have her again and again. He had been kidding himself for days, thinking that he would be able to stay away. Somehow he had known that all along.

Even knowing that she was a venomous harlot did not stop him from lowering his lanky form on to the foot of the old mattress. His exhaustion overtook him and he rested his head in his hands, lost in his own self reprimanding thoughts. He stayed like that for some time before he sensed movement on the mattress.

The Pryo slid her arms around his torso, caressed his chest and arms as she had moments before. He almost melted into her embrace as she began to massage the thick muscles of his back and neck.

"Mmm," She murmured against the side of his neck, "Why so pensive?"

He said nothing; he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts and her massage to respond.

She laughed, and her laughter was callous, "Feeling guilty, are you? Married?"

A dry chuckle escaped his lips, "No."

"No? Well then… It must be the fact that you feel so out of place as a double agent, " She asked as she kissed the side of his unshaven cheek, "You must be hoping I'll spill company secrets while you fuck me."

It was the way she said it, not necessarily that she knew the truth, that caused him to turn his head and stare blankly at her.

"That's what I thought," She laughed her cold laugh once again, "Do you think you're so hard to figure out?"

He returned his head to his hands, rubbed his temples in frustration, "I'm not an interrogator."

"Or torturer," She purred, slid her hands down his torso, "Because if this is how you extract information…Well, you can try to make me talk as many times as you wish."

At that the Sniper stood, pulled away from the Pyro's seductive grasp, "Eat."

She took the plate he had brought for her and began to unwrap it's contents. The Sniper walked to the door and his hand had barely grasped the handle when she spoke again, "Get some rest. You have to bring me breakfast tomorrow."

The Sniper gave a terse laugh at her statement, knowing full well he would be back and wrapped in her arms by morning. He walked out of the cell, torn between hating himself and hoping that dawn would arrive sooner than later.

* * *

A/N: Well hey there! I'm back, baby! Probably not for long though. You should know how I work by now, ha. So… what to say, what to say?

Yes, I saw Meet the Pyro! The Pyro is… Well, uh, holy shit: beyond crazy! He/she is completely delusional. Thanks to that new knowledge, it appears that I'm being a bit reserved with that character. And here I thought I was going to have to turn down the crazy to make my Pyro more accurate. Clearly I've got to up the insanity somehow… But really, her character is set at this point. They all are. So… My liberties have been taken and my characters aren't as close to the original Valve characters as I had hoped they would be. Oh well, I tried right?

Poor Sniper. He can't really help himself, can he? Can you blame him, though, what with the smoking hot red head that can't seem to get enough of him? I think any man would have a hard time doing the right thing in that situation. Think he'll ever be right again?

So, what is it about these two? What are they going to do? I think they're about to see some consequences for their actions, I can tell you that much! ;)

My story is a little over halfway done now. Do you still like what you're reading? Then hit me up via reviews or messages! You know I love it! As always, I do my best to respond ASAP, but if I've missed you I'm very sorry! Keep hitting me over the head and I'll get it eventually! :)

Until next time ya'll!

EDITED 9/17/2012


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